


The Fangs of War

by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Demon Deals, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is a Softie, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Erica Reyes is a Little Shit, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Horror, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, King Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Marriage of Convenience, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscommunication, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prince Derek, Rutting, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Shit Gets Dirty, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, The Beta Trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-02 14:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18813217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle/pseuds/AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle
Summary: Derek's family had survived the war. Well, most of them. His father fell to the fires of the battlefield, and Derek had inherited the mantle of Alpha against his will. Which of course, put him ahead of Laura for the throne. Among other things, Peter had to go and do something stupid, and piss off their neighbors to the south. A country ruled by a man known as the Demon King. Great. Things couldn't have possibly gotten any worse.(Or, the Royalty AU I've been trying to write for the better part of two years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tried writing a royalty AU, and failed multiple times. Here's hoping this time sticks.

 

The Fangs of War

 

 

 

 

Derek hated this time of year. Summer was wrought with blistering days of unrelenting sun. Beating down from the time it rose, to the time it set. There was no reprieve. Even inside the palace walls. Their court mages could only do so much. There was a lot of magic involved in cooling off an entire castle. And his mother didn’t have that high of expectations. Alpha and queen aside, she at least had reasonable expectations.

     He does his daily patrols. Walking around the palace with ease and relative comfort. The soldiers that pass him all stop and bow. Lowering their heads and offering their necks. Derek never wanted to be an alpha. That was the role his sister was to play. Laura was the eldest, and poised to take the throne. Life, it seemed, had other plans for him.

     The war was brief, but brutal. Having a werewolf family run an entire country didn’t always go as smoothly as one expected. There was an established structure of power. One that was simple and concise. But there would always be those who thought they deserved power over others. Deserved power and station and wealth.

    The Hales had ruled their country for several centuries now. And in that time, there was an unprecedented ear of peace. There was plenty to eat. Roads were maintained. There was no drought or famine or plague. The people were happy. Namely, because Derek’s family knew the cost of keeping order. And that their position as rulers didn’t entitle them to wantonly take from others.

    They had their grain storages. Their stockpiles. But that didn’t mean the villages who supplied them went without. There were of course, lean years. Where the harvest was smaller than previous ones. Where all citizens, royal or otherwise, went to bed hungry. That was the cost. Equal opportunity meant that if the king did not eat, then the villages did not eat. They had been working to fix that.

    

 

The druids in their service had been allied with them for generations. They were a part of the kingdom, but wholly separate from it. They could come and go as quickly as the wind. The matter of keeping them was still, to this day, a mystery. Had it not been for them, the war could’ve turned out rather differently.

   The population was, for the most part, evenly divided. Werewolves, as well as other shifters, lived in relative peace with humans. That is until the Argents came along. Gerard and Kate were ruthless as well as wealthy. With more than enough coin to ply their banner men into combat. They had the forces and the steel. Other families, seeing opportunity, joined them. They were less successful than intended.

     There was a litany of issues. Namely, the common folk refused to cooperate. They fought back. Refusing food and shelter. It made it far more difficult to advance towards the capitol when the men were half starved. It only made them more brutal. Werewolf or otherwise, they slaughtered anyone who got in their way. Which resulted in their cause quickly losing traction.

    In less than a year, all the forces were either dead, imprisoned, or deserted. Kate died in the fires of the field. Body scorched and mattered. Gerard came to the execution block. The sound of his head thumping to the ground still gave Derek nightmares. The saving grace of the Argent line was Chris. As the eldest, he knew his family. Their strategies. Their coffers. He helped the crown secure victory. As well as his daughter.

    It was the only reason that his family wasn’t wiped from the face of the earth. Talia may have been a benevolent ruler, but she knew when mercy needed no part in her decisions. Their punishment was being made to help with the reconstruction efforts. But no amount of reconstruction could bring back his father.

   

He had died in the evacuation efforts. Even as a king, he wasn’t going to let his people fight his battles. The man forced away his guards, taking to the front lines. Even if he didn’t engage in combat, he would not let his people be left alone. His efforts saved thousands. Taking them from their burning villages to safety. The fires took him in the end.

     Derek felt it. When he died. Namely, because he became an alpha. No one could explain why. Laura was the first born. The eldest child. As such, she was the rightful heir to the mantle. There was no reason it shouldn’t have gone to her. But it didn’t. And Derek was now, against his own volition, in competition for the throne. It made for a rather tense atmosphere.

     So he did the only thing he could do. Which was publicly renounce the throne. It came as a surprise to everyone. Including his mother and sisters. He didn’t tell them. Only called a royal proceeding. It wasn’t entirely without precedent. They were still rebuilding from the war. No one questioned it. No one had anything to suspect.

    He had their court document man draw it up in secret, plying him with a supple amount of coin. As well as the witness. It wasn’t really much of anything. The reaction of his family…That was another matter. His mother was outraged. His sister couldn’t speak. Peter was amused. Cora…Cora struck him. It was the first and only time it had ever happened. He knew why.

     In the event of Laura’s death, she would now be the sibling that would inherit the throne. She would bare the weight of their country on her shoulders. With Derek renouncing his place in the line for the throne, he had thrown his sister in the ring. It was selfish. It was cruel. But it was the best thing he could think to do. He didn’t want anymore fighting.

     Cora didn’t speak to him for a month. Laura just smiled a forced little smile. Peter was Peter. His mother chastised him beyond measure. Derek could only apologize. Even if he didn’t really mean it. After a year, things calmed down. Most of the villages were back on their feet. Most everyone had forgotten the fiasco the only son of the royal family had caused. That’s of course, when Peter decided to colossally screw up.

    The day was already unbearable because of the heat. Even more so now because of the meeting his uncle had called. Last minute gatherings were often messy, and full of misgivings. When Derek arrives, his sisters and mother have already arrived. His uncle, despite being the one who called the meeting, was decidedly absent.

      He arrives in a fluster of papers. Face taught and stern. The man was known for his coyness and his inability to ever take anything seriously. This was the most Derek had seen of him in quite some time. The man thrusts documents and reports across the war table. Trying desperately to get his own affairs in order. When he finally speaks, it’s nothing good.

 

“My survey team has gone missing.”

     “And what, dear brother, have you been surveying?” His mother asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Potential iron and coal mines to the south. There were plenty of villages that were depleted during the war. I took some incentive to look for replacements.”

 

At the mention of the south, every person in the room tensed. To the north, they were bordered with a kingdom of loosely banded barbarian tribes. Though the term barbarian was quite outdated. They simply didn’t speak the common tongue. The people in fact were completely civilized. Laura was in negotiations to marry one of their princes. Securing an alliance that would prove most fruitful.

     To the west, were craggy, near unpassable mountains. There was nothing there save for rogue wolf packs that had strayed from the kingdom. Any and all who lived there were either in exile, or hiding. There was a small inroad to the sea. It was their country’s only port. To the east, a great sea of sand. Treacherous and ever shifting. The kingdom that lay beyond it was not known for being friendly.

     But to the south, trees. Everywhere, trees. A great, unbroken torrent of green and brown. The border was thick oaks that would break even the sharpest of axes. There were a few sparse mountains here and there. Odd things that didn’t make much sense, given where they were. It was not the trees that they feared. It was their king.

     No one had seen or heard from anyone in the south in quite a number of years. All they knew was that there was a war. And the one who now stood at the top was someone who the very mention of, struck fear into the staunchest of men. There were plenty of names for their ruler. Lord of Shadows. Master of Secrets. Emperor of Serpents. The Demon King. Every name was meant to strike fear into the hearts of men and wolf alike. There was very few confirmed details. All of what were rumor were still terrifying.

    They said he had horns that could carve out a man’s heart. Eyes darker than a moonless midnight. And the slightest sound of his voice made men fall to their knees. That his claws carved through flesh straight down to the soul. There was no telling what he would do if he found any one of Peter’s survey team.

 

“Who’s leading the team, uncle?” Derek asks, curious to just how serious this is.

     “The Whittemore boy. He wanted a chance to prove himself, so I gave it.” That complicated things. Jackson Whittemore was from a good, distinguished family. One with a rather complicated history. For all their lineage, they were entirely human. Save for Jackson. He was the only werewolf. Which meant a highly dormant gene coming to light, or an affair on the mother’s part. There was no way to prove either or. But it had led to the young man feeling isolated. Away from the very people that were supposed to love him.

     He joined the ranks of the knights and quickly rose to distinction. His noble blood aside, the young man adapted to his wolf nature splendidly. Derek had never seen such remarkable swordsmanship taken so well. There was no doubt in his mind that Peter had taken full advantage of the young man’s thirst for approval.

      Even if he was estranged from his family, he was still a noble. Which meant that he could be extorted for rather large sum of wealth. If this southern king, this Demon King, was as ferocious as rumors held, there was little room for any other conclusion. Derek wondered just how much they’d have to give. And what would happen to Jackson should they refuse.

     Peter gave them a detailed route that the survey team was to take. It led to just the edges of the border with the south. Just shy of a hundred miles. Close, but they wouldn’t have crossed. Or rather, they weren’t supposed to. Derek didn’t think that Jackson was so foolish as to take them across another country’s border illegally. And risk the wrath of their dreaded king.

      There was no telling what happened or how many were still missing. How many were dead. Derek didn’t want to think of burying any more people. There had been enough of that to last a lifetime. He could only pray and hope that their gods listened. Though they’d been decidedly quiet as of late.

     There was too little information to go on. Too little to move or take action. They had no knowledge of what lay beyond the border in the south. They couldn’t cross without inciting war. And the idea of war with a Demon King was not a risk they were willing to take. Even Peter, for all his thirst for power, wouldn’t dare.

 

     They, in the end, decided to send a lone messenger, with a single knight. Baring the insignia of the royal family. Asking for permission to search for their missing men. Derek selected Isaac. His was the staunchest of his betas. Quick on his feet, and quicker with his wits. Boyd was his guard. He was by far the strongest. Derek could again, only pray.

     They left at first light, on two of the swiftest stallions they could provide. They’d reach the border in two day’s time. Peter was decidedly tense. If this went badly, someone was going to take the fall. As the commanding officer, that would undoubtedly be him. A week goes by, nothing. No word from anyone. Then one day, the strangest thing happens.

     There came a raven. Far larger than any bird should’ve been. Feathers sleek and black as obsidian. It smelt odd as well. There was a strange, wild tinge to it. Much like the air before lightning struck during a storm. Derek knew the scent to be that of magic. This was someone’s familiar. With it, a simple scroll. It detailed the message in one short sentence.

“ _Bring me Peter Hale.”_

     The king had received their messenger. But gave no news to the men that they had sent. Nor if they had any members of the survey team. Their only choice was to obey the command. Otherwise, there was no telling what they would do. Peter made the arrangements. Derek was to accompany him. The alpha gave no leeway on the matter. A member of the royal family wasn’t going to cross into a foreign country alone. That, and Peter’s silver tongue caused trouble as often as it solved it.

    Talia sends them off with stern eyes, nearly brimming with tears. Her only brother and her only son were going off to a foreign country. One whose king was notoriously terrifying. There was a small procession of knights that were to guard them. All of whom would be rewarded handsomely should they return unharmed. Derek could only hope for that at this point.

    The journey is short. They don’t bother to waste time with wagons. They simply mount the steeds, and take off towards the border. There wasn’t any time to waste. They reach the border in just over a day. Given how hard they pushed the horses. Which collapsed upon reaching the Sea of Trees. Derek didn’t dare take them up for at least another day. Less the creatures’ hearts give out.

     They eat in silence and sleep in the open. A band of werewolves wasn’t going to be taken by surprise. And no one dangerous enough to actually pose a threat would come this close to the border. At first sign of the sun, they take off into the trees. Unknown on whether they would return. There were no maps of the land to the south. All they knew was of the trees. How far they expanded was only guesswork. And that was a dangerous thing to go on. Especially in this country.

     When they finally break free of the trees, they’d been riding for three days. The first signs of civilization come with well-worn roads. Grain covered fields. And people who pay them no mind. They do nor say anything. It is relatively easy to see that they’re foreigners here. Derek keeps moving. Peter never relaxes his face.

      The first town offers only one person to direct them to the Capitol. His instructions are simple and concise. They follow the largest road, and never travel as night. As they were told. The capitol is another two days’ ride out. And that’s with the weather holding. The terrain is fair enough. With little obstructing them.

   Even as they close in on the grand buildings, no one pays them any attention. It’s not like anything Derek imagined. With a title like Demon King, he thought of ashes and corpses. Of worn down stone and horrid screams in the night air. The buildings are fine, sheer rock. Neatly carved and well built. Able to withstand storm and quake alike. The roads were worn, but well maintained. He was honestly impressed.

     It was as good, if not better than their home. The markets were busy with people and beast. Trade and barrel afoot. Coin changing hands faster than Derek could see. It was a vibrant place. Full of life and splendor. The air carried traces of wine, spice, and sweet fruit. This wasn’t at all what he thought the land to the south would be like.

      When they are within ten miles of what he assumes is the royal palace, a procession is there to greet them. It is led by a man who appears too old for his station. The edges of his chestnut hair have strands of grey. There were crinkles in the corner of his eyes. A man who had more than seen his share of days. Derek knew better than to cross him.

 

“Welcome to our country. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

    “We made great haste. Given the simplicity of the message.” Peter replied. His tone was flat. Giving nothing away to his tenseness.

“We will escort you to the palace. The king will meet with you there. And he’s most anxious to see the Hales.”  Derek tried not to take that to any real meaning. An anxious Demon King was a dangerous thing to think about. Hopefully, he’d be in a good mood.

     Their escorts, much like everyone else they’d passed, do not make conversation. They do not engage. Neither does the man who leads them. When they arrive, Derek is floored by its beauty. The entire structure seemed to be made of the finest marble. A fortune several times over. The sheer worth of it could’ve paid for half their country.

    Peter didn’t make any comment. He knew now the full brunt of this king’s power and fortune. Several times over what they had. Even if the war hadn’t happen, there was no way they could’ve gone against this man. Once again, all Derek could do was pray.

     The inside of the palace is more marble. With lavish decorations of silk and woven glass. The entire thing seemed to a dream. Their own Capitol was lavish. But it was nothing like this. This king seemed to be rather full of his own self. The prideful were easy to understand. Not so easy to sway. This could go very wrong, very quickly.

     The throne room, despite how lavish the rest of the palace is, stands muted among the rest. The tapestries are cotton rather than silk. Though still of a good quality. The floors are marble, but there are no adornments. The people in the room are plainly dressed for being part of the royal court. Derek could tell by the scent, there were at least three shifters present besides him and Peter. One of them is an alpha. But is the man who sits on the throne that draws his attention.

     The title of Demon King didn’t suit him. He is younger than Derek. By at least five years. No more than twenty. Quaffed auburn hair adorned with a jagged, obsidian black crown. Had there been any horns, they would’ve protruded from beneath it. Ivory skin, spotted with beauty marks that Derek lost count of. The man had no claws to speak. Just blunt, human nails. And his eyes…His eyes were certainly not that of a demon.

    Rich and deep in color, they were like honey-amber struck by sunlight. A pool of warm brown that spoke of sweet autumn eves. When a chill shivered the spine. Perked the hairs on the back of the neck. And made all the birds sing through the trees. He was gorgeous. As well as powerful. There was an aura about him. One that sent Derek’s wolf reeling. Peter was no less tense.

 

 

“May I present, Lord of the Land, His Majesty-.” The guard that brought them in was cut off by a raised hand. The king had silenced them.

    

    “I dislike long winded introductions. I’m king, and you’re not from this country. State your name, rank, and intention.”

“Derek Hale, Crown Prince, General of the 12th Artillery Legion, Son of the Honorable and Revered Talia Hale.”

      “His Royal Highness, Peter Hale, General of the 7th Infantry Line, Keeper of Tomes, and Brother of the Honorable and Revered Talia Hale.” The king regarded them with a pointed interest. Eyes narrowing at Peter’s introduction. He was the reason they were here. That, and the return of their countrymen.

“Welcome to our country. I won’t ask how journey was, because I simply don’t care. Now, to business. Peter Hale, you are hereby charged with the violation of this country’s sovereign border, and the attempted theft of our resources. How do you plead?

***

Derek was frozen in place. Unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to do anything other than try and process what the king had said. Peter had been charged. Peter had been charged. They were in the king’s throne room, and his uncle was charged with crimes against the country. Crimes, which if found guilty of, meant the gallows.

     There weren’t any good options here. They could proceed with this ridiculous trial. Hoping that there was some way to avoid Peter being executed. Or imprisoned for the rest of his life. That was the option that would result in them both surviving this. Running was another choice, and not a good one.

    They were surrounded by knights on all sides. Vastly outnumbered. With a sorcerer king mere feet from them. Derek knew that they couldn’t move fast enough. They couldn’t do anything without someone, one of their own, dying in the process.

 

      “Your Majesty, I beg pardon but,” Derek was cut off by the same raised hand that had silenced the guard.

“I addressed Peter Hale, not you. Therefore, Peter Hale will answer. Unless you’re taking the role of his legal defender. Which is your right.”

     “As well as knowing the basis for these outrageous charges.” Peter snapped. The king smiled. It was a wicked smile. Which seemed so out of place. It wasn’t an expression meant for a human face. The king threw down a pick axe. Solid iron, with a sturdy handle. A good build. One that Derek recognized.

“No one in this country had the materials to make that tool. It’s handle is not from our trees. And it was found among your men. The one’s you sent “scouting.” Forgive me, Lord Peter, but is customary to bring enough tools to carve out a mine, before royal approval?”

 

It wasn’t. A mine was always scouted and properly mapped before any real digging took place. Several samples would be taken back to the royal blacksmith for testing. To see if the ores were of any value. The best would be shipped directly to the Capitol and border towns. As they needed the best weapons to maintain protection. Lesser quality ores were shipped and loaded to farming communities.

     There was a chain of procession for the purpose of keeping order. There was only so much that was needed to conduct a survey of a mine. If it was anything, be it iron, gold, or coal. That’s how their family had ruled. That’s how their family treated its country. Where everyone got a chance. That’s was to be their legacy.

 

 

“Your accusation stems from a pick axe? Weak and trivial, your Majesty.” Peter nearly forgot to use the proper address. He was going to bungle this.

    “That, and the shipping stallions that came with your men. These aren’t the horses one rides for long travel. It’s the ones that are used haul hundreds of pounds over rough mountain passes and rocky fields. What purpose would they have here?” Peter didn’t have a rebuttal for that.

“Furthermore, ropes and canvases. To keep the ore covered and protected from the elements. Out of harm’s way, as to be kept as valuable as possible.” The proof still wasn’t solid. But it didn’t look good either. Derek knew that this was only going to get worse.

      “Your Majesty, with respect, this is…Unusual. This is not a courtroom. And there was no time to prepare a defense for these charges. Surely you must realize.-“

“You are not in your country. You are in MINE. And this country, and its people, will not tolerate armed soldiers, sent by the crown of a foreign land, stealing our resources. You can deny the attempted theft from the mine, but your soldiers bare the same insignia. The same coat of arms. And you, their commanding officer, will answer for their violation of our border.”

 

Peter swallowed thickly. The lump catching in the bottom of his throat. This king was young, but he was by no means inexperienced. He commanded is court with the voracity of iron. Taking no rebuttals of any kind. Not tolerating a single person speaking out of turn. Derek knew that they were doomed.

 

“If you do not wish to plead your own guilt, that stands well enough. The trial will determine that, as fairly as you are rightly due. But your men were caught in the act. Their trial as already commenced. And they have been found guilty.”

 

Derek felt his skin go cold. If Peter had sent these men across the border, and they had been caught…That was it. The king was well within his rights to do as he pleased. They could’ve already been executed. Buried in an unmarked grave. Far from where anyone could ever hope to find them. Isaac and Boyd were messengers. So as long as this king respected that law, they should still be alive.

      Peter was as pale as moonlight. Eyes quivering with an unholy mixture of fear and rage. The normally composed man was a hair from being unraveled. Derek had never seen his uncle this enraged. This despaired. This…human. It was shocking and oddly thrilling. It was like the layers of his indifference were being peeled away, revealing the man that truly laid beneath.

 

“Your Majesty, I demand to know the fate of my soldiers. If they are dead, this will be an act of war.” Peter was trying to be threatening. But, it backfired tremendously. Derek blinked, and the king was standing directly in front of them. The air sang and hissed and danced. There was a power that sent crackles through them.

    Derek knew that this man was anything but human. He felt more like a wolf. An old, powerful wolf. Even as an alpha, Derek felt the need to bare his neck in submission. It was amazing that Peter was able to stay upright. Hell, the fact that anyone in the room was able to stay upright.

 

“You speak so easily of war. Like it would be the simplest thing in the world. You declared war the moment you sent a hundred across our border. Into our home. It was when you attempted to steal from us. It was when you tried to pass it off as a mistake.

     I know your type Peter Hale. A man, born adjacent to power. So close to the throne, yet so very far away from sitting on it. You move silently, like a shadow over grass. With a charming smile, and a tongue made of silver. I think now, much to my pleasure, that silver tongue has all but rotted from your mouth.”

 

Peter reeked of fear and anxiety. Whatever crimes he truly was responsible for, Derek had no clue. But it seemed like the king had the entire thing in order. There was no swaying or convincing him. The verdict was already decided before the trial even started. There was no way to avoid it. It seemed the king was ready to execute him here and now.

      The saving grace came from the guard. His hand found its way to the king’s shoulder. Pulling him back from the rage and bloodlust. It was a bold, unprecedented gesture. For a commoner to place their hands upon royalty so flippantly. The kings of old would’ve had their hands as penance.

     The guard shakes his head sharply. Eyes focusing into the king’s. It was unspoken exchange. One that Derek could not translate. But it appeased the man. In some small way. He backed away. Eyes closed in quiet contemplation. He breathed, then spoke.

 

“My father has reminded me of my temper, and how it tends to get away from me. He has also reminded me that we do not desire war. However impudent our guests may behave.”

     “On behalf of my family, and our queen, apologies for my uncle’s outburst. It won’t happen again.” Derek said while glaring daggers at his uncle. The man had tried to age old tactic of intimidation. They were still rebuilding after the war with the Argents. Still trying to get back to a sense of normalcy. There was no room for conflict. Especially not with a country whose king carried so much weight with his name.

     Peter was still frozen in place. Sweat began to bead at the very corners of his forehead. A barely there trace of his fear. He was learning, rather quickly, that the man who had charged him wasn’t to be trifled with. Derek still didn’t consider their odds favorable. If this really did come to a fight, they were going to lose. Then, with the death of two royals, there would be war.

 

“I do not care for you speaking for that man. He has a tongue, rotted as it is. And he will answer.”

     “The fate of my men, Your Majesty.” Peter spoke like he was etching it into stone.

“Your men, Peter Hale, lie in the eastern tower. Well fed, if a little cramped. I’ve been placing them to work in the fields. Making use of invaders is just practicality.” That was a sigh of relief. The king hadn’t brought harm to their soldiers. They were alive. They could go home.

      “I admit sending my soldiers to scout for a mine. But I gave no order to cross into your country.”

“I dislike thieves. I dislike liars even more. You will be given one chance to own up the charges levied against you. Once chance only. After that, your fate, and the fate of your men, lies with the justice of this country.”

 

Derek knew full and well the king meant every last word. That he would, without hesitation, punish a foreign royal for crimes against his people. That these charges could end with the gallows. Or the axe. Or any other number of punishments that could end if not in death, ungodly pain. Derek knew that his uncle knew as well.

    The man did or said nothing. He simply eyed down the king like he was the worst person in the world. As if all the sin and grief of life was his fault. Derek knew anger. Derek knew hatred. This was something that the war with the Argents had taught him. It was misplaced in Peter. The evidence against him was damning. Even if he wasn’t executed or imprisoned by the king, Talia would bare him no mercy once home.

      The guard, the king’s father, didn’t remove his hand. It stayed firmly in place. As if rooting the man’s anger. Keeping it from bursting the seams of his person. Restraining the very rage that would have given him the title of Demon King. Derek could only hope it would last.

 

“I admit to the charges levied against me, in full. I, Peter Hale, commanded a small battalion of soldiers across your northern border to search for mines. To exploit the absence of your men, and return what was mined to my country.”

 

Derek was honestly surprised at his uncle’s admission. The man was haughty and prideful as they came. More than willing to flaunt his station and name to grease the wheels of his fortune. But here he was, untied and unwoven. Facing the reality of breaking this country’s laws. There was no telling what would happen now.

     The king dismissed them without a word. Moving towards a young, dark haired man towards the back of the room. Derek could tell by the scent that he was a werewolf. As well as an alpha. There were shifters in this country as well. Not too many, as the throne room smelt most of humans. And the king’s strange, warm scent of power. He was…Something. What, Derek didn’t know. Hopefully, it was something inclined towards mercy.

     The two men speak among themselves for several minutes. Lowly and with their heads turn. Even in the quiet of the throne room, Derek couldn’t make out a single word. Peter didn’t stir or speak. Didn’t try and justify his actions. Didn’t try to give reason to betraying everything that their family stood for. That they’d spent their entire rule trying to establish.

     The Hales had built their entire empire on the notion of peace. Of cooperation between humans and shifters to live together. Working together. Building together. Where the old prejudices were placed to the grave. Where centuries old anger was laid to rest. A place where commoner and royal stood as equals in the eyes of the law.

     Derek did not know this king. Or his laws. Or his people. He was right in regards to his temper. There was also the lofty set of names others had for him. It seemed that there was one for everything one could imagine in a nightmare. There had been every rumor, and hushed whisper. Every tall tale and lightless horror. But Derek thought that maybe, just maybe, he knew him.

    It was a man who took power. Not because he wanted it. But because it was his only choice. This was a man too young to be king. But a king he was. A king that held others to the highest standards. Be they lord or beggar. Peter was guilty of crimes against a foreign crown. He would have to face their justice. As was the right thing to do.

     The men speak for not much longer, and the king returns. Looking decidedly less angry. There was still a tinge of bitterness in his scent. His mood may have calmed, but he was no less dangerous. He was no less volatile. Even the slightest misstep could lead them back to the gallows. Derek didn’t want to see his uncle hang. Even if he deserved it.

 

“You are guilty against the people of this country. However, as I have been reminded, there is no treaty between my country and yours. As such, it would be…unfair to press forward with the punishment. You will return to your country in two days’ time. I shall follow within a fortnight to discuss what proceedings will take place. I trust this is acceptable?”

 

Derek jabbed his uncle in the ribs to break of his stupor. The man nodded his head furiously. Not trusting his words to convey the correct answer. They had avoided death and imprisonment in one swoop of luck and mercy. He made a note to give the dark haired man a barrel of their finest wine at first opportunity. The man had more than likely kept them alive.

 

“What of our people, Your Majesty” Derek asked.

     “They shall return with you. Their fate will lie in how well I am received, and how your queen pleads their case.” That was more than Derek expected. The king had reasonable expectations of things. Even with his temper.

     “His Majesty had ordered rooms prepared. You will be permitted in the baths after dinner, which will be eaten in your rooms.” The guard ordered. It was gentle, but with no less authority for being so.

 

They are led away, not by force. But with a simple entourage of soldiers. Their own men are stripped of their swords and knives. Taken to the barracks to be housed amongst the other knights. Derek had little doubt that they’d be perfectly fine. There were at peace. For now. What tomorrow would bring, no one knew.

     The room they receive is by no means opulent. The palace itself was made of marble. But the interior was sparsely furnished. Even then, with only simple woods and animal hides. No wrought iron or silver embellishments. Nor gold or platinum. The king seemed to have run out of money.

     When dinner is served, it is a simple stew of meat and veg. The cut was fatty and tender enough to spread like butter. Still, it was a far cry from what one expected to receive in a royal palace. Derek wondered if the king was eating the same. If the decor was anything to go by, he was a simple man. The palace was built of opulence. But not embellished with it.

     Peter ate in silence. Derek had nothing to say to him. Nor would he until they arrived home. The alpha didn’t trust his words. While relieved that his uncle was alive, as well as their men, he was utterly infuriated with his tactics. His decision to illegally cross the border of another country to steal precious resources. This would fall back on them ten-fold if the meeting with Talia went wrong. Thousands, tens of thousands of people would be at risk.

      When he finishes, his uncle places his bowl next to the door, leaving for the bath. Derek does not follow. While the king may have been angry, in ways that Derek had never seen, he wasn’t likely to assassinate his guests. Even those who committed acts of war.

    He simple peruses through the books on the shelves. Of which there are plenty. With subjects ranging from the classics of the Old World, to fantasy and poetry. More than enough to keep Derek busy for two days. Though, he is joined by the most unexpected person. The king. Who had entered the room. Without so much as a whisper of sound. So much for the possibility of not being assassinated.

 

 

***

 

Stiles didn’t know what to make of this situation. And there was plenty to think about. Namely, the fact there was a force of a hundred soldiers in their eastern tower. He hadn’t had the easiest time in being king. Nor had the people in accepting it. But he was king. Meaning it was his responsibility to keep the people of his country safe.

    Word of the foreign soldiers came in whispers. Strange men in strange cloaks baring strange banners. They were on the very outskirts of the Emerald Expanse. Just on the northern border. That’s why it had taken so long for word of them to reach the palace. Whoever they were, they knew well enough to stay in the trees. Where it was harder to spot them.

     Scott, bless him, was more than willing to approach the matter in a diplomatic sense. Stiles hated and loved him for it. The possibility of war loomed in the air like a fog that wouldn’t dissipate. There was never any reason to think that these soldiers were here for anything nice.

     Stiles decided to gather more information before proceeding. That was the safest course of action. Even if he was impatient. There were plenty of spies in his regime. Men and women that he trusted to do the scummy, underhanded work that needed doing. He hated that it was even necessary. But it was, and they needed to know who these people were.

    There was nothing for three days. Only that they numbered a hundred. With one commanding officer. A young one at that. Which worked in their favor. Young often meant inexperienced. And that could play to an easy win for them. If it came to that. But there was something strange about the way they were arranged.

    

    According to reports, only half the men were armored with swords. The rest were dressed…Well as workers. As hard laborers. And there were tools with them. Pick axes and torches. Things meant to dig and carve earth. Things meant to mine. These men were not here to invade or scout locations or towns. They were here to steal. Stiles had to admit, they’d chosen the perfect place to do it.

     The Emerald Expanse was protected by his decree. In the war, too many of the trees were lost. Too many cut and burned. With nothing left but ruined earth and sorrow. Which led to misery spreading across the land, far and wide. The gods of old did not take kindly to their vessels being desecrated. Even if they were no longer worshipped in these lands, their anger remained eternal.

      When Stiles took the throne, he made sure the trees were protected. That they were kept safe. The wrath of the land was not easily quelled. They were still recovering from the fires and the floods and the plague. There was too much damage. But these men, these foreigners had come into their home. And desecrated their forest and their land.

     It was not something that Stiles was going to tolerate. He ordered their immediate capture. He wanted them alive. He wanted to be able to look them in the face as he charged them. Surprisingly, the commanding officer didn’t put up that much of a fight. His soldiers followed the command to lay down their weapons. All one hundred were brought into custody without so much as a life lost. Or a drop of blood spilt.

    Once they were in the palace, Stiles put his reputation to the test. There were plenty of ridiculous names that people had come up with. Titles that were meant to strike terror into the hearts of even the staunchest men. That would shake the skies. Boil the seas. And level mountains with a whisper.

     The soldiers nearly pissed themselves. Half of them were wolves. As was the commanding officer. Which made things difficult. He didn’t like the idea of charging non-humans. Not so soon after the war fighting for the right to exist. The relationship he had with his shifter citizens remained tumultuous. They had fought, tooth and nail, for their freedom. As their king, whatever punishment, whatever justice he gave these foreigners, would reflect on his legacy.

    The man’s name was Jackson Whittemore. Stiles didn’t even need to ask if he was a noble. The man carried himself as such. That, and the armor he wore cost more than what most knights could ever even dream of. Perfect, pearly white teeth. Not a blemish of plague or illness. He had led a good, well fed life. Away from the ravages of everyday living.

    That didn’t mean he wasn’t immune to the horrors of war. He saw it in the man’s face. Deep seated lines. Carefully hidden by pride. Subtle little things, invisible to all but who looked for them. And look Stiles did. He was going to discover who these people were. And why they had violated the borders of his country.

    He tried to remain calm. As calm as one could be when dealing with invaders. They were still recovering from the horrors of war. The last thing they needed as another one. But they were bold enough to violate their borders, and carve a mine. That meant that these people were more than ready to declare war. At least, that’s how Stiles saw it.

    Jackson gave simple and concise answers. He didn’t bother to lie. Didn’t bother to try and deceive or sweet talk his way out of things. Stiles, if nothing else, appreciated that. The last thing that he needed was proof that there was no blood on his hands. Which was where Lydia came in.

    If people feared Stiles by his name, people feared Lydia for her very presence. Being a banshee tended to do that. He didn’t fully understand her powers. In fact, she probably didn’t either. The truth of the matter is, she could hear the dead and nearly dead. Their voices. Their secrets. Their pain. Their grief. She could hear their rage and their sorrow. She could hear their regret and longing.

     Jackson didn’t both resisting the test. Which was a simple touch of hands. It was as if he knew better than to try and defy her. Scott was the same way around Lydia. Wolves seemed to tread lightly around her. Toeing the barest reaches. As if to avoid some imaginary offense. For the most part, it was pleasant to witness.

     Lydia declared that while Jackson had seen combat. That he had dealt death, and stared it in the face. He was free from the blood of their people. That he had not drawn blade or bow against their countrymen. Which worked in his favor. Though he was still guilty of leading the force into the country.

     Stiles demanded the name of the man who had given him the assignment. Noble he may have been. But he was of no marriage and no standing land. His parents well alive, and he’d be inheriting nothing of theirs anytime soon. Peter Hale. That was the name that was given.

      Stiles knew that if a royal was involved, things would’ve been even more complicated than before. Since he’d taken the thrown, he’d made sure to keep tabs on the surrounding countries. As much as he could without actively violating the borders. That’s where his familiars came in. They could slip in and out unnoticed. The downside being that the information they could get was limited.

    He, at the very least, knew the names of the royal family. Apparently, one of them had been the ones to send the soldiers into their country. As well as ordering the theft of their resources. This could mean war depending on how the meeting went. They had a hundred foreigners in their custody. There was no denying that their borders had been violated.

      He didn’t know what to do. So, the best option he had was to wait. Which wasn’t long. Two men arrived at the palace. Bearing a white banner of peace, and a scroll sealed with a royal emblem. They were messengers. Here to gather information, and seek permission to search for their missing countrymen. There was no need.

     Stiles informed that they had been taken into custody. That they had been charged and found guilty of the crimes levied against them. There was no retort to be had. They messengers could say or do anything. That was as simple as it got. To return, Stiles sent his swiftest familiar. A well-traveled raven that could make it to the border in half the time it would take a horse.

    The messengers were commanded to the eastern tower with the rest of the soldiers. He could keep them in good company. As well as allowing to see that their countrymen remained unharmed, and in excellent health. They’d also serve as valuable chips to ensure Peter Hale wouldn’t come with an invasion force.

     When news of their arrival reaches the palace, Stiles summons Whittemore. Wanting more information. Peter Hale is the exact type of man he expected him to be. Brother to the queen. Born to power, but unable to ever fully grasp it. At least, that’s how Jackson put it. This would be an interesting meeting after all.

    When the Hales arrive, as in two of them, Stiles sits idle on his throne. He knows full and well that wolves can sense fear and distress. He would not appear weak in front of these people. Not with what had to happen. Not with what he was to do. For the sake of his countrymen.

     Peter Hale is as every bit handsome as he is detestable. Derek Hale is reserved, and clearly a looker. Stiles found his eyes wondering when they should’ve stayed in place. The two of them seemed…Unsettled. As it always was when wolves were near him. They didn’t understand his power. Nor why their instincts screamed so loudly. It was always a source of amusement.

     His father tries to be polite. Tries to be cordial. Stiles isn’t having it. He throws accord out the window, openly charging Peter Hale with infiltration of their country. As well as the attempted theft of their resources. Both wolves are stunned into rigid silence. The darker part of him is amused.

    Peter attempted the expected, and frankly, unsurprising rebuttals. Stiles knocked each and every one of them away. Treating the man like the criminal he was. He didn’t desire war. Any kind of conflict. But he certainly wasn’t about to let Peter get away with his crimes.

     The would-be-king attempted to intimidate Stiles. Threatening war if his men were not returned unharmed. Needless to say, Stiles was less than amused. He moved with the swift and grace of a shadow. Appearing before the two wolves with little effort. It was surprising that they were able to stay standing.

     Peter was afraid. Stiles didn’t need to be a wolf to tell. He just knew. The man was power hungry fool that thought of nothing but what he could gain. The kind of man that ran Stiles’ country into the ground. The kind that made fortunes off the suffering of others. He would not tolerate it.

    It is his father and Scott that keep him from doing something foolish. Like killing him. Which would’ve been easy. The man was paralyzed with fear. Ending his life wouldn’t take but seconds. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an option. Not if he was to avoid war. Not if he was to keep his people safe.

    Scott suggested a trial outside of the country. Settled with their queen. Where negotiations could be made. Where terms could be set. It was a sound idea. One that provided the best possible outcome. One that allowed the steer away from war.

     Stiles accepted the idea. Even if he wanted Peter Hale in the dungeons. The two men agreed. They would spend two days in country, then return to their homeland. With Stiles to follow swiftly. They were escorted to their chambers without a fuss. Their knights, to the barracks.

    

His father is the first to make a comment. On how Stiles needed to reign in his temper. If he was to be king, if he was to lead their people, he needed to show mercy. Their previous ruler had been anything but. The people, all the people, desired peace. Which was difficult if they started a war with their neighbors.

    Stiles didn’t have a retort. One half of him wanted to solve things through diplomacy. The other half wanted Peter Hale strung out through the streets. Naked and whipped. But that wasn’t a king’s choice. That was the choice of a tyrant. He wasn’t about to be one.

    Dinner is eaten in silence. No one is in the mood to talk. There is far too much tension in the air. Though the stew is exceptional, Stiles didn’t taste anything. Not really. He was concerned with future of his country. The future of his people. The future of his crown.

    When he took the throne, it was a bloody day. Many men died. None of them innocent. All of them weighed down with the burden of their sins. Their greed. Their anger. Their ambition. Stiles didn’t hesitate in executing the rest. They deserved no mercy. They’d built their wealth on misery and exploitation. The payment of their lives was the only real outcome possible.

    He spared their children. Giving them one of two options. The first being exile. They’d be given a small, but reasonable sum. A wagon with good horses. And a months’ food. They’d leave the country and never return. The second option was to stay and build a new country. To tear down the old regime. To undo every vile system their parents had built.

     It may have been cruel. Hell, even Stiles thought so. But revolutions didn’t happen peacefully. Nor did they happen without death. Any sentiment otherwise was for fools. Their previous king had never shown leniency to anyone who defied him. So he wasn’t shown any when they tore him from the palace.

   

    His father hands him a glass of wine. Knowing that Stiles will not drink. Alcohol didn’t suit his tastes. Nor the feeling that came with it. But the gesture is appreciated. He waves off his guards as he leaves. They were only there for appearances to begin with. Even the old gods feared a thing like him.

    The halls are both cold and quiet. Stiles relishes it. The peace that came with the night. Where the moon hung high overhead. A stupendous orb of pearly white that illuminated all that lay beneath it. He wondered if Derek felt the same way. He was a wolf after all. An alpha at that.

     Stiles had never kept his passions for the bedroom a secret. It didn’t really concern to the villagers. The only real downside with another man was the lack of children. Which most would’ve found distasteful. Stiles didn’t care. He was never that obsessed with his bloodline.

     Derek came from a rather distinguished one. It was in the way he carried himself. The way he walked. Not arrogant. But refined. Good breeding and all that. Stiles was instantly attracted. Which was a problem. Given that the man’s uncle was about to be tried.

     Attractions aside, he did desire to speak with Derek. Privately. There was much that he didn’t want to say in front of Peter. Now happened to be the perfect opportunity. He could not sense the older wolf as he approached their room. He was likely in the baths. Which meant Derek was alone. Had the circumstances been different, Stiles would’ve been thrilled at the idea.

    When he enters, the wolf doesn’t notice. Stiles had that keen effect. Scott never found it funny, no matter how many times he did it. Stiles still laughed. When Derek does notice him, the man’s heart stays even. There is no panic in his breast. He is alert, but unafraid.

 

“I trust you enjoyed your dinner?” It is the most impertinent question possible. But he needed to start the conversation somehow.

     “Not what I expected. Given the opulence of this palace.”

“The previous regime had a rather…Opulent taste. Unfortunately, there is no money to build another palace. Nor would I waste it. There are more pressing concerns.”

     “Such as?”

“Your uncle, to start.” The wolf’s heart skips to a higher beat for but a moment. Stiles was still working on not scaring people. He did it often, and usually without realizing it.

     “I thought the matter was settled. We are to try him in my country.”

“I am aware of our agreement. That doesn’t mean I like it.” Stiles was a straightforward man. Even before taking the throne. He could tell a lie, or bend the truth as well as anyone. If it so suited him. But wolves could detect any faulty truth.

     Scott had reminded him of this many times. It never ceased to irk him. There was no lying to a wolf. Particularly an alpha. Save for the use of magic. Which Stiles abhorred unless there was truly no other option. In this case, honesty was best.

 

“And what, Your Majesty, would you prefer?” The wolf asked with a tinge of anger.

     “Preferably? Your uncle strapped to a whipping post with a hundred lashes. But that is a decision made in anger. The previous king did a lot of that. Which is why I’m now king. I will not make the same mistakes as the previous rulers of my country.”

“Pray tell, Your Majesty, what mistakes are those?” The wolf was being snide. Stiles understood. He was foreigner, in a strange land, with a strange king, with justifiable anger. Stiles decided to retort with a single word.

     “Slavery.” The mere uttering of it gave him chills. Made his stomach turn. His skin grew cold at the memory. There was a dark, fetid side to their country. One filled with blood and pain. With sorrow and lost children.

    Their king hadn’t been a bad man at first. Stiles wasn’t even born when he took the throne. It wasn’t an eventful occasion. For many years, there was peace. Their taxes weren’t raised. They were in good relations with their neighbors. All was well. Until it wasn’t.

     Their king did have one fault. His greed. The building of the palace was made to be an entire affair. Their great mines were stripped bare for it. Marble for the walls and floors and pillars. There was none left to give. So, they imported it. Vast amounts from the Great East.

     Soon, the country was in debt. Their taxes were raised. Farmers were scraping their bowls. Merchants sold near vinegar wine. There was no peace. Not anymore. People turned against each other. Fighting for so much as a single pale of water.

     It wasn’t enough. The king had overstretched himself. Had thrown his country and its people into a debt that was too large to pay. So the people paid it. With their lives. Or the non-humans did. Werewolves had always lived amongst humans. They were countrymen. Same as any other.

    For the most part, people left well enough alone. As long as the wolves and humans behaved themselves, there was no trouble. Until the king decided to create a cleansing. Wolves and their kin were stripped of everything they had. Everything they owned, taken. Including their freedom.

    Their king had decided that if the debt could not be paid, he would force others into payment. The first slaves were collared swiftly, and without remorse. The king didn’t even bother to try and hide his intention. He knew he could get away with it.

    The knights were in need of payment. And what better payment than labor. Even child wolves were strong. Durable. Lasting. They could do the work of three men. Alphas were prized. Taken down in hunts, and dragged screaming and clawing.

     It was a nightmare. It didn’t just stop at the wolves. All non-humans were targets. Especially the rare and exotic. They were captured in droves. Throne into wagons and carted off the lands unknown. Families were ripped apart. Children orphaned. Wives widowed. There was no mercy.

     The tipping point came when there was no one left. All non-humans had went underground. Hiding away from the tyrant their king had become. That’s when the hunts started. Massive parties of knights, armed to take captives. It was the first time in his life that Stiles had ever been afraid.

     He had little magic. Tricks really. Nothing special. Lydia was better. She was…something. The villagers knew. They all knew. They just didn’t care. Not until the king’s inquisition.  When the knights arrived...There wasn’t a lot anyone could do.

     They broke down doors. Burned homes. Questioned and tortured. People betrayed other people. Stiles couldn’t be mad at them. They just wanted to survive. Anyone wanted that. They didn’t want their children to meet the same fate.

    Even with his father being a lawman, there was nothing that would stave off their onslaught. Stiles tried to help. Tried to make it where others could escape. His magic wasn’t good for much, but it was good for trickery and deception. That, he could do. And for a few days, it worked. Until it didn’t.

    Lydia was the rarest of the rare. Beyond treasured. Beyond price. There wasn’t enough gold in the kingdom. “Banshee”. One of the knights had called her that. Stiles didn’t know what it meant at the time. All he knew was that it meant that the knights killed her entire family.

     Stiles wasn’t there when she was taken. He was helping another group escape. When he returned, half the village had been burned down. Lydia was gone. His father was bleeding from his side. There was no recourse. There was no hope. Save for one.

     He’d heard the stories. Legends really. Fables at best. Ways that magic users could gain power. He performed one, and suffered the appropriate consequences. The king was dead in less than a month. All the nobles that had helped him, dead. Anyone and everyone who had made the slave trade possible, dead.

     Stiles and his father, and everyone who rallied together were victorious. He was lauded as a hero, but people didn’t know the truth. Didn’t know the nature of how and why he was able to win. He didn’t bother to even try and tell them. They elevated him to the throne. They made him king.

     An unknown peasant, now the ruler of a broken nation. There was no telling how many things could go wrong. For some reason, nothing really did. The people received Stiles as their ruler with complete success across the board.

    He went right to work, fixing what had been destroyed. Trying to repair both his country, and its people. It wasn’t easy. He had no experience in ruling. No experience in giving orders. With all the nobles dead, he wasn’t exactly in a position for advisement.

     His fellow peasants had to help. Namely, his father and Scott. They were his chief advisors. The two of them did more in six months, than the previous king had done in 20 years. Their country was back on its feet. At least, it was on its way.

     Then the invasion force came. Then, Derek and Peter. There was an international debacle that he now had to sort. He wasn’t used to this. He’d been king less than two years. There was no guidebook for this kind of thing. For the most part, he was flying by the seams of his trousers.

 

“Our previous king, rest his soul, made slaves of my non-human countrymen. Shipped them out to the Great East. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands were lost. He incited rebellion. We won. Now, I’m king.”

     “And what, you’re one of the “good nobles”. The ones that didn’t have any slaves?” Once again, the prince’s tone was condescending. Once again, Stiles was less than enthused.

“No, I was a peasant. The son of a lawman. Nothing more. I became a king when I took the previous one’s head.”

 

That shut the wolf up. At least, his eyes no longer crinkled at the edges. His face was softer now. Younger, in a strange sort of way. It was almost appreciable.

 

“I don’t expect you to like me, or even care about my country; but you should care about yours. I don’t desire war. I don’t desire more death and madness. My countrymen have suffered enough.”

    The foreign prince had no snide tone this time. In fact, he had no words at all. Whatever conceptions or notions he’d had of Stiles seemed to have vanished. There was no telling where they would, or rather, could go. Stiles wanted peace. He was sure Derek did as well.

    His uncle was another matter. The man had flagrantly attempted violated their country’s border. He didn’t seem the type to resolve things without some manner of conflict. Stiles wanted him put through the wringer. He also wanted his people to be able to sleep peacefully at night.

     There was no way to have both. That was a reality he was prepared to live with. The only real matter the nature of the queen. He didn’t know anything about her. Nor did he desire to anger. Any woman who could rule a country like she did…That was one enemy he didn’t desire.

    He wasn’t looking forward to their discussion. Peter Hale deserved to be executed for his treachery. Being a royal would spare him from that. If only just. Stiles was still trying to keep his temper in check. Demanding undue suffering and torment wouldn’t get him any points with the queen.

      “Your uncle deserves to pay for what he’s done. Even if he didn’t manage to steal anything. He violated the borders of my country. That, in of itself, is enough offense. I won’t ask for his head. I won’t make widows or orphans. But I will ask that he see one, simple truth.”

“And what’s that, Your Majesty?”

     “That he see, no matter birth, blood, wealth, or power, there are consequences to greed. I think, given the state of things, that’s more than sufficient.”

“My mother will see well enough that he is dutifully punished.”

      “Thank you for your honesty. I can at least be grateful for that.” He turned to leave, as their conversation was done. The young prince decided otherwise.

“Your Majesty, in all of this, I have yet to be given your name.” It was a simple thing. So easily said. It had been a time since he’d been called by anything other than king.

     “My mother, rest her soul, gave me a name in the old language. I won’t bother trying to ask you to pronounce it. So, for the sake of both our sanities, just call me Stiles.”

 

Derek didn’t seem to need to know anything beyond that. He nodded his head curtly, dismissing himself back to his bed. Stiles left the room before Peter could return. He wasn’t keen on seeing the man until he left back for his country. What needed to be said, had already been said.

 

***

 

 

Derek was restless. He and Peter were due to return back home today. The previous engagements had been…Tense. The rest of the palace bore them no ill will. But they were by no means friends. The king, Stiles as he preferred to be called, attended to royal affairs. Leaving the two wolves alone.

     The only one of the country that had warmly received them was Scott. He was a low born. The son of a healer, and a tradesman. Under normal circumstances, he shouldn’t have been anywhere near a royal court. At least, that’s how it was in Derek’s country.

    The young alpha was a rather…interesting character. He didn’t behave like anyone that Derek had ever met in a royal proceeding. His pack was small. Composed of bitten rather than born. Unheard of for an alpha of his standing.

     He did not carry himself like a royal adviser. The air of entitlement that usual came with it was decidedly absent. The young man was by no means snooty. He was friendly, and gave a generous level of hospitality. Despite the circumstances for their being here.

     The proceeding of their leaving was rather simple, and rather uneventful. The king, Stiles, dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Promising to visit them soon. Derek knew that he had given them ample time to prepare.

     Their family hadn’t received a royal from a foreign country since before Talia was born. Not to say that they weren’t open to it. But the northerners didn’t care for straying from their homeland. And those to the great east had intense distrust of outsiders.

      It was to be a procession and an event in of itself. Something of a party. At least, that’s what it would be to the public. In private, amongst themselves, it would be a trial for Peter. His crimes were severe, and could be counted as an act of war. Which they’d barely escaped.

     Derek had seen enough battle and bloodshed to last a lifetime. He desired no more. Laura would take the throne in a few short years. Their family needed stability. Their country needed stability. That, and he had no desire to war with this king.

     Stiles was…something. Powerful and beyond reproach. The young man had been part of a revolution. One that ended with him on the throne, and the old king dead. Along with most of the nobles. Derek dreaded to think the kind of power that took.

     Such a thing wasn’t what he wanted for his countrymen. They had just begun to settle after the Argent’s civil disruption. They’d just begun to know peace. He wanted to keep that peace. And he’d do damn near anything to do so.

     The ride home is longer than the ride they took to get here. They have an extra one hundred men in their company. All of whom had been worked to the bone by the king. Punishment for violating the border. Far lesser than what they could’ve been given.

     The Whittemore boy is silent. There is something off about him. Something that Derek can’t quite place. He doesn’t press the issue. There is enough to worry about as it was. Peter wasn’t going to have an easy time once they got back home.

    When they finally cross the border back into their country, everyone essentially collapses. They are tired from the ride. The horses are tired. Hell, Derek is tired. The village that hosts them is small. With only a few cramped huts to offer.

     Peter takes one for himself and Derek. Or rather, he tries to. Derek sleeps in the open. Giving the hut to his men. They had done their due diligence, and deserved a good rest. Jackson joins him in the tent. Sleeping like the dead, still saying nothing.

     When they leave two mornings later, the weather starts to turn. Skies painted grey and nasty. There was a storm looming on the horizon. A bad one. They had a day, at best, before the rain came in. Derek hand’s the village chief his coin purse. Payment for housing them. The man knows better than to refuse it.

     The rest of the ride is spent in full force. All of the horses manage to make it without dying. Which is no small miracle. The capital receives them well. Waves from their countrymen as they make their way to the palace. What awaits them there is far different.

     Talia Hale was a regal, composed woman. She ruled firmly, but fairly. Derek had only ever seen her angry a few spare times. Her anger when she greets Peter would rival that of the devil. His uncle physically cowers away. Knowing now the full severity of his transgressions.

     The yelling continues into the night. With all the palace as an audience. Derek almost pities his uncle, almost. His mother, when she’s done screaming, hugs him fiercely. Still angry of his crimes, but grateful the king decided against taking his head.

     They inform their family of the coming procession. That the king will be here, in their country. Demanding a punishment for the wayward royal. They’d escaped execution and war. Those, at the very least were off the table.

    Derek’s betas greet him with fever. Wanting the reassurance that their alpha was safe. He was, as much as he could be anyway. The king would be arriving in two weeks’ time. And there was much to do. Much to prepare for. Much to pray for.

      The days leading up to the arrival were filled with stress and raw nerves. All the nobles had been commanded to be present. Hosting a king was no small affair. Everyone was expected to their part. Cora was less than enthused.

      The presence of a foreign king was stressful by itself. The presence of an unmarried foreign king was another matter entirely. Cora was the second born daughter, and direct line to the throne in the event of Laura’s death. An unwed king, especially with one as much cause as Stiles, could demand an allegiance.

     Which was traditionally sealed with marriage. It was an uncomfortable thought to have. He didn’t want to see his sister shipped to the south. Away from everything that they knew and loved. Stiles didn’t seem like a bad or spiteful man. But he didn’t desire to see his sister go.

    No one says it out loud. No one speaks of it. Almost as if uttering the words would make it come true. Derek understood the reasoning. His mother was especially stressed. Laura was due to meet with what the northerners would call their king. They’d been exchanging messages for over three years.

     That alliance was all but secured. But there was still much to do. Two visiting kings was enough to drive anyone mad. Derek tried his best to keep everyone together. Peter was surprisingly helpful. In that he rallied the nobles to prepare all needed necessities.

     The day of the arrival, Derek is pressed into clothes had hadn’t worn in years. Presentation was a matter of refined dignity. He’d been in plate armor when he road into the southerner’s capital. The tunic he wore now almost felt ridiculous.

      Cora and Laura had been tailored new gowns for the occasion. And were decidedly unhappy about it. Laura was a little more girlish than their younger sister. That didn’t mean she enjoyed the ceremony that was dressing. Peter all but thrived on it. Despite the fact that he could end up locked in a tower very soon.

     Stiles is decidedly less menacing when he arrives. Simple blacks and greys. With silver embellishments. The terrifying crown he wore when they met is nowhere to be seen. Scott is with him. Dressed in a rather shocking shade of blue. A rare color in their country, as few knew how to make it.

     The chief of the royal guard, Stiles’ father, is also present. He wears a simple tunic that bulges with chain mail. There is a redheaded woman with them as well. Derek remembers seeing her when they were visiting. Her presence sends a chill down his spine. Like Stiles, she is powerful in a way that remains unknown.

     The greetings and formalities are quickly dispensed. The party that follows is a complete success. The king looks ready to commit genocide the entire time. Derek takes it as a sign that he doesn’t enjoy such affairs. He drinks one glass of wine, and eats nothing.

     Scott is the center of attention. There is a magnetism that he possesses. People want to hear what he has to say. Even Talia is enthralled. Which is something of a shocker. Derek wonders just who this young man really is.

    When the party is over, and the nobles have all but left, the real reason for the procession becomes apparent. And the room goes stale with tension. But they will not discuss such things today. The morning is going nowhere. And everyone is tired.

     Derek takes himself to his room, giving the king a sharp nod of his head. They exchange no words. Just as he leaves the throne room, he sees Scott chatting with Argent’s daughter. The young woman smiles in a soft way. That is neither forced nor overdone. There should be an interesting development come the morning.

     The sleep that finds him is restless and uncomfortable. There is no peace in his dreams. He can hear his betas tossing and turning down the hall. Everyone is on edge. Everyone fears what the sunrise will bring. Stiles held the dreaded title of Demon King. They would see if he had rightfully earned it.

    When he wakes, his valet his decidedly silent. The man had been a part of Derek’s life for many years. He always started the morning with a short, lively conversation. There is none of that today. Everyone is too tense.

     He dresses simply. Breakfast will be a short affair. He doesn’t look forward to it. The others of his family are presented with a little more effort, and Derek is left to wonder why. There is no reason to put on regal clothing this early in the morning. They wouldn’t be speaking with the king until later.

     Only, that wasn’t the case. As Stiles walked in. Barefoot, with a loose tunic and plain trousers. Most unbefitting for a king. Derek was both shocked and amused. That a man of that station walked into a foreign royal’s dining room dressed as a commoner.

    He greets the redheaded woman with a kiss on the cheek. An action that visibly upsets Jackson. The wolf’s scent goes sour with…jealousy? Which is a rather confusing thing to witness. Derek didn’t know what to make of it.

      They eat in comfort, casual conversation openly being exchanged. Cora remains silent the entire time. She is very much out of her element. Social pleasantries were never her specialty, much like Derek. Their mother nearly dropped dead when she asked to be trained as a soldier.

      This kind of thing wasn’t suited for her personality. He wondered just how much she’d be able to endure. How long she could handle the proceedings left to come. Derek often worried for his sister. There was no telling what any of their futures held now.

     When they’re done eating, and the plates cleared away, the conversation takes a different tone. It is firmer, and less casual. Talia takes her stance as queen, using what Derek calls her royal voice. This is business. Business that now determines the fate of a royal.

 

“I trust you found your room amicable, Your Majesty?” The question itself is harmless, but full of purpose. A probe that Derek knew well. His mother was trying to gauge the king.

     “Very much so. Pleasant, given the circumstances. Now, with all due respect, I disdain unnecessary pleasantries. Onto matters at hand.” His head turns towards Peter. Who doesn’t bother to look anywhere but his feet.

“My brother has been….informed of his misconduct. And has been dully lectured on what will happen if such transgressions occur again.”

     “He is not a child, Your Majesty. A stern lecture will not suffice in terms of recompense.” The tone he took made Derek shiver.

“And what, Your Majesty, did you have in mind?” The question made everyone present hold their breath.

     The king could demand damn near anything. Peter had violated the sovereign border of a foreign nation. Such a crime, when committed by a royal, carried a sentence of death. He said he wouldn’t demand Peter’s head. But two week’s was plenty of time to think of a decision.

      Derek silently prayed to whatever god would listen. Prayed that his uncle could escape with his life. He’d already lost his father. And while he and Peter had their differences, they were family, and he loved him. Stiles had the power to take that away.

“I’ve thought about what Peter deserves. What would best suit him in terms of his payment. Gold, as a start. There’s a small village near our coast that needs funding for a new harbor. You won’t be expected to finance all of it, just the start.”

      “Is that all, Your Majesty?” Peter asked with a glimmer of hope. One empty coffer was, by all accounts, a light sentence.

“Not remotely. You’re a man than prizes wealth and status. I will take from you one small portion of your wealth. As for your status, that, I shall take quite a bit of that.”

     “You suggest I strip my brother of his station as a royal, and as a lord of this country?” The implication was dangerous. If Peter’s status as a royal was revoked, it meant that he would be forbidden from living on palace grounds. He would be outcast.

“Oh no, nothing as drastic as that. You will keep your status as a royal. What I want, what I shall take, is your ego. What I demand, is an apology.”

     That was…unexpected. Stiles had demanded the one thing that Peter hated the most. Admitting he was wrong. Admitting that he, a royal of the distinguished Hale line, was in error. That he now had to, in the presence of their entire family, acknowledge it.

     The man was by no means evil, but his pride was the one vice that he held tightly. He was wrought with it. Unjustly so. To demand this, was to take from Peter what he truly valued most about himself. That he stood above his countrymen.

     But Stiles wasn’t his countrymen. He was a low born peasant form a foreign land. One who had led a revolution and become king. Changing his country for the better. He had earned his position, not through birth or coin, but by effort and willpower. Something that Peter knew little about.

     Derek wondered if the man could do it. If he could truly surrender his pride, and relinquish his egotistical mania. If he could, a sum of gold would be all that he’d truly lose. Given all that he could have taken, this was small by comparison.

     “I….I’m…Your Majesty….”

“One line of words, that’s all it is. Do take your time, as this is most amusing.” Peter swallowed back the rage in his throat. He had to be careful now. The king had made a generous offer. Trampling on it would lead to nothing good.

      “You have my deepest, and most sincere apology, Your Majesty.”

Derek is rather impressed. His uncle had managed to deliver it without fault or a vicious undertone. In a single sentence, they had avoided war. They had avoided death. The entire room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

      Stiles excused himself not long after the plates were cleared away. Practically skipping out of the dining hall. The redheaded woman, who Derek learned was named Lydia, followed Jackson out. A coy smile across her sunset red lips.

     There was rather a lot of strangeness going about. None that Derek could explain. The king was…joyous. Far more than he should’ve been given his visit. He was here to see punishment. Here to see that a royal paid consequence to his crime.

     Even still….Derek had yet to detect even the slightest hint of anger from him. Or even annoyance. He was….jubilant. As if celebrating something. Perhaps the man took pleasure in reducing Peter a few notches. Perhaps it was something else.

      He’d think about it later. For now, he was happy to enjoy the rest of the day in idle comfort. The biggest worry they had was now gone. For the moment, they could relax. They could enjoy the peace they had. That they had managed to keep.

     The palace was still buzzing with the events of last night’s party. Derek knew that it would linger some weeks. It had been the most exciting thing to happen since the war. Peaceful times often meant bored nobles. And bored nobles lead to nothing good.

     He actively avoided most of them. As a prince, even one who had renounced the throne, he was still valuable in terms of marriage. As an alpha of the Hale line, his children would be strong and proud. Though he didn’t disdain the idea of marriage, he didn’t care for the idea of being used as a prized stallion.

      His mother never pressured him, or brought the subject into conversation. Peter was the only one who ever had anything to say. Even still, it was only passing comments. He and his wife were…estranged. Since their private separation, he’d taken no lovers. Or even courted the idea of divorce.

     His only child and heir, Malia, was something of a hellion. Derek loved his cousin dearly. But she was a force to be reckoned with. Wild and unhindered the nature of her station. She was by no means going to submit to being a wife. To anyone.

      It was a laughable thought. Seeing his cousin in a dress. The young woman favored trousers over anything else. To the absolute horror of Talia. And the complete pleasure of Cora. The two of them were as thick as thieves.

     Derek wondered just what the future held now. There was no telling. Stiles would stay within the palace for the foreseeable future. Perhaps a week. Enjoying the country, and its people. His guests, while just as strange, were welcome.

      Though, there was a lingering fear. Many of the nobles saw opportunity in ill placed times. Stiles had yet to wed. Scott as well. Two people of power, from a foreign land. There couldn’t have been a better notion that securing an alliance. Even if it meant pushing the boundaries of propriety.

    He could think of a few he could do that. Argent, chiefly among them. He was by no means a social climber. His family were knights and warriors. Proudly so. But after the war, with the loss of his father and sister, their house had greatly diminished.

    Coffers lay barren, full of dust and cobwebs. Great estates reduced to crumbling ruin. A marriage to a foreign king, especially one like Stiles, would no doubt prove advantageous. Derek wondered if the man would sign away his daughter so easily. To give him his only heir.

     He didn’t think it would go so smoothly. Allison was a fierce young woman. Unlike most nobles, the Argents trained their daughters as soldiers. From the time they could walk, they held blade, bow, and spear. She was taught to fight thrice harder than any man. The idea of being given to one would most likely end in blood and ruin.

     That being said, the young woman seemed to be enamored with Scott. And he with her. The two of the talked briefly, but held great conversation. Or so it seemed. They have a match within themselves. Without having to be forced by internal forces.

      That left Stiles. As king, he was considered the prize. Wealth, status, power, land. He had everything a noble could ever dream of. Whomever managed to slither their way into a marriage proposal would be set for generations to come.

     Though Derek didn’t think Stiles to be the marrying type. He was far too concerned with his countrymen. The affair of a marriage would only be a hindrance to him. He was focused on rebuilding his country. Rebuilding his people. They’d lost enough. The king had decided that they’d lose no more.

      Derek often wondered how many times the man had thought about ceding the throne to someone else. Giving away his crown. Letting someone else bear the burden of protecting an entire country. They’d survived the war. They’d survived the revolution. He was king. But there was no telling how much of him was truly left.

     When the night had finally settled, and the stars were veiled by the clouds, Derek made his way to his family’s chambers. It was the place where they held all the meetings they wished secret from the nobles. While families of power played an important part in running a country, some matters were best left out of their hands.

      His mother wears a regal dressing gown. Even after being exhausted from the day’s events, she is no less a queen. Cora and Laura are there. Both with a glass of wine in hand. His sisters were not the drinking type. But this day had proved that exception.

     Peter sits with Malia. Derek hadn’t expected her to show for at least another week. She was in the western mountains with her mother. The fact that she is here now is something of a shock. Why she wasn’t at the dinner or meeting wasn’t. The young woman had no filter.

     Derek’s arrival signaled the start of the meeting. He knew what was on everyone’s mind. The one thing that everyone wanted to say. But had no mettle to say it. It was glaringly obvious to any person. Werewolf or not. A simple undeniable truth that no one wanted to give voice to. The king, whatever he was, wasn’t human.

 

“Well, at least we’ve managed to avoid one war. Less discuss how we avoid the next.” His mother’s tone was less than enthused. Her eyes trained towards Peter. Who had little else to input other than his presence.

    “The king seems…Determined that war should never occur. He, like us, survived one in his own country. Therein lay the problem. We have no treaty with them. This peace, however nice, is but temporary.” Laura was always the more sound of them. Derek wondered why anyone ever thought he could be a king.

“An alliance? Surely not. That creature would usurp us from the throne at first opportunity. He may speak of peace, and desire it. But make no mistake, a thing like that….It desires power above all else.” Peter had actually dared to speak. Given that he was the reason they were here.

     “And what else would you suggest, brother? Either we do nothing, and he takes our country. Or, we forge an alliance, and he betrays us. Taking our country. At least, according to you.” The tension in the room could be carved like a turkey.

     Derek didn’t know where to go from here. They’d avoided a war due to Peter’s surprisingly sincere apology. But part of him wanted to believe his uncle. That Stiles, the king, was indeed a threat. He wasn’t human. He wasn’t a shifter. He kept company with Lydia, who was so very much like him.

      There was no way to settle this where they could all sleep peacefully at night. Where they could rise each morning without worrying if an invasion was afoot. Derek didn’t know what course of action to take. In the old days, the old ways, they would’ve assassinated the man.

     The ancient Hales didn’t climb to power without dirtying their name. Not at first. There was a number of atrocities committed to ensure the foundation of their reign. But that was centuries ago. Here, now, they were better than that. They were better than killing men in their sleep. Drowning their children.

      Peter seemed intent on the idea that Stiles would betray them. That this king would not stop at ruling his own country. That he would spread and spread and spread until the entire continent was under his thumb.

    His mother was nearly inclined to agree. Well, to an extent. Laura was more reasoned. Cora had said nothing. The same went for Malia. The entire room was of differing opinions, or none at all. Derek wanted to trust the king. On the other hand, experience told him to prepare for the worst. Which just happened to come knocking at their door. Quite literally.

     There were only a few select guards that new the location of their private chambers. Hell, even Derek’s own betas didn’t know where it was. The number of people that even knew the route was limited to barely a dozen. So that begged the question. Who was knocking?

      The answer was one that Derek should’ve expected when the door was opened. It was the king. Dressed in deep grey robes. Hair mussed about his head. Eyes weary and sleep heavy. He had not been awake long. But long enough to find the chamber and disturb their meeting.

      Peter had a look that Derek didn’t want to think about. It suggested the unthinkable. Which was to kill the king here and now. Realistically, it may have been possible. There were two alphas present. Laura and Cora may have been betas, but they were by no means unaccustomed to fighting.

    Malia was vicious. If any one of them made an attack towards the king, she’d follow suit with a fury unmatched. That much, Derek knew. But he also knew it was an ill-fated idea. Even if by some chance they succeeded, that meant that an entire country would bear down on them. They couldn’t survive that. Even if they took Lydia and Scott hostage.

“So sorry to interrupt, but could someone direct me to the toilet?” It was the absolute worst time to make a joke. But the king was there, smiling like no tomorrow.

     “Your Majesty I…” Peter attempted to use that silver tongue of his even as he planned murder. The king took that opportunity in an instant.

“Father always did tell me that I had poor timing for my humor. But as I’ve told him, the audience doesn’t matter in a comedy. At least, not this one.” The king ignores the pointed stares of everyone as he passes them.

     He takes a seat towards the side. His bare feet propped against another chair adjacent to him. He was as relaxed as he could possibly be. Even though he surrounded by the entire royal family. Who had, up until this point, been considering his untimely death.

“I don’t like uncomfortable silences. Please, do press on. I have nothing better to do.” It was Malia who moved first among them. Not Peter. Not Talia. Malia. Her eyes were fierce and determined. The king did not move. Even when his cousin pressed her nose into the man’s neck.

    Derek wondered what exactly she was doing. What exactly she intended. The man simply held still. Doing nothing but smiling. As if he was enjoying it. When the young duchess pulled away, her eyes shone blue. Not out of anger. Or anything like that. But out of fear.

“We can’t kill him. He’s too strong.” Peter looked ready to throttle his daughter. Derek felt the blood drain from his face.

      “I like this one. Very forward and straight to the point. Good to know that I inspire fear, even in this country.”

“Your Majesty, please forgive my niece. She has…”

     “There’s nothing to forgive. Realistically, it was only reasonable to assume that you might be plotting my death. As I was plotting Peter’s since I learned of his violation of my country’s border.”

     It was an open, truthful statement. Derek detected no lie in the king’s heartbeat. He was being completely honest with them. He had every reason to. Given that Malia had just blatantly said that they’d been plotting the man’s murder.

“A thief, even a failed one, is still a thief. I dislike thieves. They have a natural disposition of disregarding others. You, Peter Hale, disregard others.”

     “And that warrants my death?” His uncle’s tone was vicious and full of venom.

“Yes. And perhaps what I am, or what you think I am, is becoming of mine.”

      “And what, Your Majesty, is that?” Talia, for the first time that Derek could remember, was afraid.

The king stood. Stretching his arms above his head. As if removing tension. Releasing worry and strife from his body. It was a gesture unbecoming of the atmosphere that the room currently had. Derek held his breath. Waiting for the king to answer. He gave it.

     “I am the Demon King.” That time, there was no lie as well. Stiles was being as truthful as Derek could tell. He was the Demon King. Though, he didn’t know what that meant. As a title, it was certainly terrifying within its own right.

    As an actuality, it was something out of their darkest nightmares. Demons were creatures of the ancient world. Before the Hales, before their country. Before any country. When the reality of mankind was loosely banded tribes.

     Demons were the monsters that slithered in the night. Between wire thin shadows. And in fleeting glances of terror. They took any and every form. Some to tempt. Other to torment. Some, just for the fun of it. They preyed on mankind as mankind preyed upon beasts.

      Derek did not think Stiles, did not think the king as a demon. He knew that such creatures could take human form. That they could use their seemingly infinite powers to deceive. But Stiles smelled human, as well as looked it. Sometimes at least.

     He said he was the Demon King. But he was no demon. If here were, there would’ve been no reason to leave them alive. The man could’ve already killed them. Reduced them and their country, along with their countrymen, to ashes. Part of him was lying.

    “The name is a vicious moniker given to me by the surviving nobility. Their way of expressing their displeasure.”

“With you being king?” His mother was still frightened.

     “With me killing the previous king, and the heads of nearly every noble house. I overthrew a tyrant and his minions. Theirs crime was that which could be appeased no other way.”

“And what, pray tell, would that crime be?” Peter’s tone was not helping.

     “As I told your nephew, the previous king decided to levy his debts through slavery. Every non-human was hunted like animals. Collared and chained. Sold to the highest bidder. Tens of thousands. Some were shipped to the Great East. Their emperor has no love for us, and was more than happy to accept the trade.

      I do not know how many of my countrymen remain shackled. Shackled in a foreign land, away from everything they knew. So yes, I killed the king. I killed his conspirators. I destroyed centuries of power and families to the point of extinction. That, and more, has earned me my title. And I shall not offer one single ounce of apology.”

     There was a finality to the king’s statement. He was deathly serious. He knew what his nobles thought of him. He knew what they feared. He knew what Derek and his family thought of him. What they feared that he would do.

      It was a standstill. It was a move that could not be made. A progress that could not progress. They were stuck. One in fear. The other in rage. There was no telling what could happen now. There was no telling what any of their futures held.

      “Your Majesty, I’d like to think that we’re better than this. We’ve both lost much, you and I. My country to, fell into the fires of war. My people lost much. My siblings and I lost our father. My mother lost her husband. You it seems, have lost something that can never be replaced or recovered.”

“Your words suit to sweet fruit, princess. But I am not appeased as such. Plotting murders we may have been, but in this time, that is not uncommon. So rather than taint our souls with further violence, what would you suggest?”

      “An alliance between our countries. To prove that we can be better than previous generations. That we do not, and will not ever rule through fear and blood.” Laura was being deathly serious. For the first time, Derek truly realized that she was meant to be queen.

“And who am I to wed? For such things are sealed in that way. I think you, no. If I remember correctly, your hand is already promised to another.” That was true. The barbarians to the north had their alliances, and their chosen king. One of his son’s was to marry Laura. That alliance could not be broken.

     “Perhaps my daughter. She is rough, but is of royal blood.” Peter’s suggestion was absurd. Malia agreed. As her eyes glared daggers towards her father.

“Your daughter would ring my neck as I slept. I take nothing personal. I suspect she would do the same to any man that would dare to restrain her. Including yourself.” The king’s smile was back.

     “My youngest…Cora is unwed. She has no talk with any other. Of this country, or our neighbors. She is strong. She is proud.” The king ignored Talia in favor of approaching the youngest princess. Her entire body was racked with tension and anger. Her worst fear had come true. She was being used as a bargaining chip.

“Your Royal Highness, Cora Elizabeth Hale, would you, for the sake of our countries, marry me?” The king wasn’t treating it as a game. He was being deadly serious.

     “Yes.” Derek knew that his sister was furious. That she was ready to shift, and tear off into the night. Just for the sake of doing it. He also knew that she would marry Stiles. That she would secure the alliance if that’s what was needed.

“Then let me ask you this, Your Royal Highness. Would you do so happily?” That…That was not the question Derek had expected the king to ask. Royal marriages, marriages of alliance, rarely had anything to do with happiness.

     They were political. Meant to produce children, and secure bloodlines. That was there purpose. That was their intent. It could happen, finding happiness. But that usually happened many years later. When the dust of the affair had settled.

     Derek knew that it would be some time before Cora was ever happy. She would go back to Stiles’ country. Be surrounded by his people. By strangers. Away from her pack. Away from her family. Expected to produce an heir. To continue the king’s line.

      She was not the type of woman to find happiness, or even satisfaction with such a thing. He ached for his sister. He grieved for her at the mere suggestion of it. She would be lost. She would be hundreds and hundreds of miles away. The young alpha was ready to cry.

“I see the answer in your eyes. While Malia may be ready to slit my throat, you would stand ready to hate me. Our marriage would be wrought with misery. So, no, I shall not marry you. I shall not shackle a young woman away from her future.”

      “Your sentiment is appreciated, Your Majesty. But if you will not take my niece, and you will not take my daughter, than this family cannot offer you anything further. There is only…” She didn’t finish. The fear locked her throat into stone. Talia knew that there was only one other person that could be offered. Herself.

     She was queen. She was the rightful ruler of their country until Laura’s marriage, where she would be crowned. She was also a widow. Her husband, Derek’s father, had died in the war. He lay buried in the tomb of their family. Encased in marble. To sleep until he was joined by his children.

     Derek panicked. Everyone in the room panicked. Cora and Malia was one thing. His mother was another matter entirely. She was still grieving the loss of her husband. She was still worrying about the future of her children. She could not marry the king.

    Or rather, Derek wouldn’t let her. If Peter was ready to kill the king, he was ready to go to war with him. His mother had suffered enough. Even if Stiles wasn’t a truly evil person, he would not marry his mother. Never. The young alpha was ready to slash and burn. To hack and to howl. Then, there was another thought that he had.

     It was tiny. Out of nowhere. From the deepest recesses of his mind. A maddening thing. So preposterous that it might actually work. That might save his cousin, sister, and mother in one swoop of the motion.

“The only other person, is myself, Your Majesty. I am the only child that remains unmarried, and free of constitution with another country. If you truly seek this alliance, I am your only remaining option.” Derek’s words brought tears to his mother’s eyes. He knew why.

     “What an interesting man you are. Truly. Such a thing seems a fever dream. Made of insanity and desperation. How marvelous.” The king smiled again.

“My son cannot be offered. He cannot bear your children. Not to mention that he has renounced the throne. Leaving Cora as my heir should Laura pass. There can be no alliance here. Not with this marriage.”

     His mother was now standing. She was distraught. Derek was her only son. Her baby boy. She would not see him lost. Not to this. Not where she could not reach him. She’d lost her husband. She would not lose her son to a marriage that offered no protection.

“But, to me, Your Majesty, that makes this offer all the more enticing. Derek cannot bear me children. Which leaves no competition for either of our thrones. And since he has renounced his claim, that means I gain nothing from killing him. Not that I would. But the point is made.”

     “And what of your bloodline? Surely the peace you’ve built was meant to last. How can that be if there is no one to take the mantle?” It was a fair, and justified question. A king couldn’t rule forever.

“I never wanted to be king. I never wanted to rule. But I am king, and I do rule. That does not mean I desire for any possible child of mine to be shackled with that burden. When the time comes, my successor will be made. Not of my blood, but by the decision that they will do what is best for our country. As well as our allies.”

     Derek could not detect any lie from the king. Every word he said had been sincere. Had been honest. Had been truthful. Since the offered had been made, he would agree to marry Derek. He would agree to marry the prince for the sake of their countries. His mother was ready to scream.

“I can see you all have much to discuss. So I shall excuse myself. I wish you sweet dreams, and favorable talks.” On his way out, the king payed no one any attention. Save for Derek. Who he offered a smile. Not the empty, hollow one that he’d portrayed. But a true, honest thing. Full of warmth and light.

     The young alpha could feel himself tighten at the thing. He didn’t know this feeling. It was…strange. But not unwelcome. He actually relished it. Though he was broken from his stupor by the sound of shattering glass. His mother had thrown a wine goblet against the wall. Thankfully, the king had already left the room.

 

***

Stiles left the Hale’s personal chamber on a low note. Lower than he’d been in quite some time. He knew that they were going to convene a meeting once the night settled in. He knew they were going to talk about him. They were going to discuss what happened next.

     When he arrived in the country, he was stounded. There were so many open fields. As much as he loved the trees, they sometimes felt too dense. Too crowded. Not enough room to breathe. The Hale’s country was vast expanses of flat green. With sweet touches of yellow and brown.

      Scott wasn’t as much a fan. His wolf loved the trees. Loved their endless embrace. The embrace of the wood. Where he could run and hunt and be. Stiles made a note to make sure Scott got time to shift while they were here.

    His father, as he always was, remained nervous and unhinged. They had many names for Stiles here. None of them good. None of them friendly. He wasn’t welcome in this country. Not really. He was here on business. Nothing else.

     He wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. As it was, werewolves didn’t like magic users. Well, at least, that’s what Scott had said. The scent of those who were magically inclined sent a word of warning. It smelled like a threat. The Hale’s were an entire family of werewolves.

      The only rulers or people of power that Stiles had ever known were human. That’s who he knew how to deal with. That’s who he was accustomed to. Now, things were different. Things were dangerous. He hadn’t exactly played it cool when Peter had showed up.

     It took everything he had not to take the man’s head then and there. Every last ounce of him wanted revenge. Even though, relatively speaking, his crime had no real consequence. Peter Hale had violated the border of his country. And attempted to steal from them.

     That’s what wasn’t Stiles was raging over. It was the fact that the man’s actions threatened war. Threatened to unravel everything that they’d strived and sacrificed for. The peace that he had built. The lives that were lost. The lives that were still lost.

    He’d become king in a rather violent way. Not that any revolution is without bloodshed. But he took head after head after head. That’s how he cleared the filth from their country. Cut out the rot, and save what could be saved.

      That’s what had earned him the title of Demon King. If only his countrymen knew just how accurate that title truly was. How much truth lay behind it. How close it was to not being just a nightmare. How close it was to being very much real.

     Stiles was nervous because of that as well. He’d suffered. Lydia had suffered. His father. Scott. They all had suffered because of his choice. Because of the choices of their previous king. They were here now. Trying to salvage their country. Trying to make a lasting peace.

     The Hales were generous in their reception. It was welcoming on the surface. And on the surface only. Stiles, as well as his family, were no fools. This was a country that only knew them by reputation. And that reputation was not a favorable one.

     That being said, the nobles masked their disdain of him rather well. In fact, they replaced it with…ambition. Stiles was considered a prize among prizes. An unwed king from a foreign land. One with a reputation of power and standing.

     He knew that coming into the country. Many would fear him. Some would seek to rise above their station. Stiles had no interest whatsoever in marriage. Not now, and not in the foreseeable future. There were more pressing matters at hand.

     Scott was another issue. A foreign alpha with no connections to the ruling family. All of whom were werewolves. As well as a decent chunk of the powerful families. He was considered a prize as well. His lifelong friend took the whole thing in stride.

     The palace is nowhere near as opulent as the one back home. The Hales had sensible and reserved tastes. The welcome party isn’t all that lavish, and Stiles hates every minute of it. The wine is good, as well as the food. But the hungry eyes that surround him set his teeth on edge.

      Scott soaks up the attention. Politely engaging in conversation with everyone who approaches him. Just as Stiles knew he would. The young alpha, even before being turned, always had a certain charisma. Lydia ignores everyone, save for one Jackson Whittemore.

     Not accounting for his crimes, he was a decent man. And doted Lydia with attention like she was the only woman on earth. Stiles could accept that. The man had paid his dues in labor. The woman was free to give her time to who she pleased. The issue now, and the one he was most eager for, was one Peter Hale.

     There were a myriad of things Stiles imagined himself doing. Decapitation. The rack. An Iron Maiden. Plenty of ideas came to mind. He didn’t plan on following through on any of them. Physical punishment only did so much. And usually inspired a long lasting familial vengeance.

     Instead he had another idea, a more devious idea in mind. A man like Peter prided himself on pride. On his station and on his wealth. An ego what would eclipse a mountain. Stiles decided to step on that shadow, and rip it out from under him.

     When it came time for it, the satisfaction was everything that he’d imagined. Peter Hale, Lord of the Land. Forced to slaughter his pride, and apologize to a foreign king. What a treat that had been. As far as punishments went, Stiles was appeased.

     He left, leaving the Hales to their discussions. His family was waiting for him. His father hugging him tightly. They had avoided war. They had avoided more bloodshed. For the moment. Stiles was no fool, and not so naïve to think that things were done.

     Peter, now enraged at his humiliation, would no doubt plot his murder. Stiles didn’t even have the energy to be angry, or even annoyed. It was what he had expected. He was a king. One that had brought the royal that invaded his country to heel.

      There was never an option that ended without them talking further. He just wanted to give Talia and the others time to discuss it. She was a lovely woman. Regal. Level headed. Compassionate. But not without her fury. He could see that in her desire to throttle her own brother.

      Their party talks amongst themselves, Stiles drinking more than he had in recent years. Wine was…decent. It did the job it needed to do. Which was calm his nerves. To dispel the tension in his body. He had no intention of being drunk. But to have just enough for his head to be a little cottony.

    After the fourth glass, he feels enough courage to confront his hosts. He knew exactly where to go. The guards were, for the most part, tight lipped. But Scott, being the wondrous alpha that he was, had excellent hearing. And there was a meeting taking place.

     When the door opens, he can tell that half the Hales want to kill him. The other half want to run. There’s a newcomer that he didn’t recognize. Malia, Peter’s daughter. He’d seen her at the welcome party. But she’d said even less than Stiles. Enjoyed even less as well.

     Talia smiles coyly. Trying to diffuse the tension in the room. It doesn’t work. He sits as idly as he can. Making himself comfortable. The plot for his murder becomes apparent within seconds. There isn’t any room for anger. Or even surprise.

      What is surprising, is what the elder princess suggests. An alliance. Which would mean marriage. Stiles dreaded the idea on the outright. Being shackled to someone who both feared and hated him wouldn’t bode well.

      Laura wouldn’t be the option. She was promised to the northern barbarians. There was no marriage there. Malia would sooner murder him. That left…Cora. He could see the disaster before it was even birthed. It would end in tragedy, and war.

       There was always Queen Talia. She was a fine, noble woman. Strong, proud. Any other man would’ve been overjoyed to marry her. Though, the thought was interrupted by her son. Who, in turn, offered himself for marriage.

     The idea, in of itself, was intriguing. And without precedent. A king taking a prince in marriage. No children, no furthering of the bloodlines on either side. It would be…fruitless. But it would serve the purpose of ensuring that either side could do no harm to the other.

      Stiles made no mystery of his desires when it came to the bedroom. In the country, where there were no lords or ladies, such things were trivial. But he was a king. A king entering an alliance with another country.

    One whose customs were vastly different. Culture. Heritage. Faith. There was a lot that could go wrong. Out of all the royal children, Derek seemed to be, at the very least, the most honorable. He’d forsaken the throne for the sake of his sister.

     No other man would’ve done such a thing. They wouldn’t snatched the crown, dumping their sibling in the river as they did so. That, if nothing else, told Stiles that he wouldn’t be murdered in his bed. That he needn’t fear for his, or any of his family’s lives.

     Though, there was another matter that would complicate things. He was a king. A king born a peasant. Made to a station that didn’t suit him. Grabbed by means of forbidden power. And all power, especially power like this, always came at a cost.

     He would pay that cost until the day he died. His family was paying it. His family was suffering. In silence, but suffering all the same. Marrying Derek Hale would no alleviate that suffering. But it would prevent future misery.

     He agrees to the principal. And leaves the Hales to discuss the prince’s future. There was sure to be lots of shouting. And as amusing as that would’ve been to witness, he decided against it. Instead, he walks back. Hoping that the guards at the door hadn’t been listening to intently.

     When he returns, Scott has his arms around him before anyone can think. That was one of the downsides of his best friend becoming an alpha. He could always tell when Stiles was troubled. He hated it every single time.

     There would’ve been no point in keeping it a secret. So, he doesn’t. The reactions are as he expected. Lydia smiles like a devil, congratulating him. His father is dumbstruck. Unable to even be angry. Though that emotion is quickly taken by Scott.

     The young alpha’s eyes glare red, and could’ve scorched stone. Stiles doesn’t bother with the rebuttal. He had none to offer. Scott is right to be angry, right to doubt every facet of the idea. It wasn’t a good one, but it was the best out of a bad lot.

     By the time the half hour mark rolled around, Scott was red in the face. There was also a knock at the door. He knew who it was before even opening it. Derek Hale was pale in the face, and looked ready to flee. Scott’s anger helped nothing.

     The young king dismisses his family, telling them to come back later. Surprisingly, they comply without arguing the matter. Derek takes a seat as Stiles hands him a glass of wine. The alpha downs it in one gulp.

 

“I have more, if you’d like.”

     “I’d have to drink an entire barrel to feel anything. And even then, I’d have to do it quickly.” The alpha tries humor, and fails.

“A lament Scott shares in. I do not, regrettably, have an entire barrel.”

     “Shame, I’ll be drinking several on our wedding night.” The wolf downs another glass.

 Stiles doesn’t need to be a wolf to know he reeks of anxiety and recklessness. His family probably disapproved of him being here. They probably disapproved of the entire thing. Stiles could only assume. And that was never a good idea.

    “So, you’ve decided to marry me then? Your family didn’t convince you otherwise?”

     “Believe me, they tried. But it isn’t their choice to makes. It’s mine, and I decide, I’d rather marry you, than you marry my mother.”

“Am I so detestable? That the mere idea turns your stomach.” Stiles feigned anger. It was somewhat funny.

     “Says the man called Demon King. You may not be a demon, but your reputation does preceed you.”

Stiles had nothing to say against that. He knew what he did. As well as his countrymen. There was no great secret. Only exaggerated rumors and ill contempt. He’d risen to the throne on blood. But he had no intention of keeping it that way.

      “If we are to marry, little wolf, I assume that you have some conditions. One that a treaty don’t traditionally cover.”

“Such as?” Derek inquired.

      “I promise to take no lovers. We may not like each other, but we can at least agree to respect each other. Enough to try and not embarrass ourselves.”

“You would be celibate, for the sake of our marriage?”

     “For the sake of our countries.” Stiles affirmed.

“And what if I say that I will never share a bed with you. That, for so long as we are married, I will never touch you. I will never lay with you.”

 

Stiles had laid with others. He was a healthy young man. With the same urges as any other. But he had never forced himself on anyone. Not when he was a peasant. And not when he became king. He wasn’t about to start with marriage.

“If you so desire, I shall arrange for separate bed chambers, on opposite sides of the palace.”

      “Consummation?” Derek asked, slightly flabbergasted.

“Irrelevant. Our marriage breaks all traditional motivations and sense. People are going to question it regardless.

      “So, what’s left then? Making sure that you promise not to murder me in my bed?”

“Nothing so dramatic, little wolf.”

     “Stop calling me that. It’s insulting.”

Stiles chuckled a tiny chuckle. A slight smile across his face. It was the first true, honest smile he’d held in months. Derek was a nervous mess. As was he. But for some reason, they managed, however slight, to get along.

     If nothing else, he could work with that. He could make a marriage work. He could sacrifice his freedom, yet again, for the sake of his people. For the sake of his family. That was the idea. Maybe, after enough sacrificing, he’d get something in return.

“I suppose, the only thing left, is this. Derek Sebastian Hale, will you marry me?”

    

     

    


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I actually managed to write 20,000+ words in two week's time. Holy, actual shit you guys. So, some notes. The second half of this fic is, by far, tedious. It's little details and foreshadowing piled atop foreshadowing. Second, towards the end, it gets smutty as fuck. So if that's not your speed, well, tough luck. Finally, thanks for being so patient. Enjoy the angst and fluff and (heartbreak?)

Derek was ready to kill something. To render a creature’s flesh, picking his teeth with the poor sod’s bones. Such was the level of his anger. Such was the level of his despair. Such, was the nature of the day he’d been dreading. The day of his wedding.

      His mother had barely, and even then, just barely accepted that her only son was being wed to a foreign king. That was nothing compared to the nobility. Derek had been sought after since he was officially old enough to mate.

      Families from every region of the country clamored for his attention. Many daughters, for his affections. He had, as graciously as he could, turned every single one of them down. In his mind, they weren’t stable enough for him to marry.

    He was still adjusting to having his own pack, to being an alpha. There were plenty of post war efforts that needed attending to. Villages that needed repairs. Roads that needed mending. Ships that needed replacing. All of it was long, arduous work.

     As a prince, and as a general, Derek often took to the front lines of the efforts. And when he didn’t, issued commands, and managed the funds of which projected needed them the most. He was, for most of his days, exceptionally busy. Marriage seemed a long way off.

      So, when the official announcement was made, the heads of houses threw a fit. The older, more traditional ones, demanded to challenge Stiles’ right to marry Derek. As many aged wolves did. It was an archaic and outdated law. But it was a law all the same.

      Stiles, surprisingly, accepted all three of the challenges. The rules were fairly simple. No bladed weapons or bows. As the challenge was usually between two wolves, they resorted to fangs and claws. Stiles, not being a werewolf, had neither. What he did have, was magic.

     Derek had seen spellwork on occasion. The druids that served the Hales were of the old blood. Their power coincided with nature, and was influenced thusly. They weren’t really the battle-mage type. Those were exceedingly rare, as most people couldn’t do such intricate magic.

     Stiles had that, and more, in spades. He was able to launch attack magic as easily as he breathed. There had been mention of his abilities in the many rumors that they’d heard. But nothing quite as outstanding as this.

     On the third match, he actually trapped the alpha in a ring of mountain ash. Which he seemed to produce out of nowhere. When it was done, and the alpha was trapped, he smiled that wicked smile of his. After that, there weren’t any more challenges. He’d more than proved his might against the nobility.

     That didn’t mean they were appeased. There was still plenty of discourse. Plenty of anger. Plenty of less than kind words used behind closed doors. Towards both Derek and Stiles. Perhaps in the older days, such things were of less concern. Derek had never really thought about it.

     Wolves formed bonds as they saw fit. If it happened to be with another man, so be it. Derek, even as a royal, was never overly focused on his bloodline. He was strange that way. Being an alpha didn’t really change any of that. Not really.

    Did he want children, yes? For the sole purpose of furthering his legacy, not exactly. He simply liked the idea of being a father. Of having pattering little feet around his home. A soft procession of laughter as they readied for bed each night.

      He wasn’t going to be able to have that with Stiles. He didn’t think ill of the man, but it was a fact nonetheless. They could always adopt. As the king had said, their marriage broke nearly every standing custom and tradition. Adoption would be so far down the list most people wouldn’t even care.

      The actual planning of the wedding is what stressed Derek the most. There was, as he had learned, a lot to do. Namely, the dressing. Gods above and below, the dressing. He hated every fitting. Poked and prodded with needles. Even with an alpha werewolf’s healing, it was becoming tedious.

     His family still didn’t approve of the marriage. But they were Hales. They had a reputation. They had a standard to live up towards. And he was expected to keep it that way. Stiles, for the most part, did not seem that concerned on what Derek would be wearing.

      He was more concerned with the guest list. After the nobility threw their tantrum, he made the point that one or more of them would try and, well, kill him. The fear was, to a point, legitimate. Wolves didn’t lay down easily. And the defeated families would have every reason.

      Not that they’d live for much longer if they tried anything. But Derek understood it well enough. They would be seated very, very far away from Stiles and his party. It was the other additions that made somewhat of an impact.

     Scott was to be seated with the Argents. Derek knew that ploy, and saw it from a mile away. Stiles wasn’t subtle. He planned on trying to engage the two of them together. Whether it was political, or just because he wanted a chance for his friend, he didn’t know.

     The next part, was the food. Dear lord, and gods of old. There was so much food. Derek hadn’t ever personally attended a wedding before. So, there was a lot he was learning. The best hunters in the capitol were being called in.

      Farmers were offering what they could. Meat was one thing. There were plenty of animals to hunt. The rivers could be fished. But grain became scarce after the war. They were still restocking the storages that were depleted. Derek issued an imperial order, the first he’d made since renouncing the throne.

      Farmers were not to starve their families for the wedding. They were to offer only what they felt they could spare, and even then, if they felt it just. He would not take food from the mouths of children for the sake of his marriage.

     Stiles helped as much as he could in this regard. His country had a surplus of grain. Namely, because all the nobles who had horded it were now dead. So, their storages were now being emptied. Partly, for the wedding. In another, because it was part of the treaty.

      The king’s country had excessive resources now that the greedy nobles had been executed. The new heads of house had no issue in complying with royal edict. In fact, they did so happily. More than likely, to stay in Stiles’ good graces.

      There was also a large supply of lumber being imported. Although it was not from the Emerald Expanse. Stiles had made it clear that those trees were not to be touched. The king didn’t elaborate as to why. Derek and his family didn’t press the issue any further.

     But the most beneficial tribute of the treaty wasn’t grain, or lumber, or soldiers. It was an audience with the rulers of the Golden Isles. Boyd’s homeland was a large set of islands ruled by various kings. They were a peaceful lot, and hadn’t known war for centuries.

     They were rich in natural resources. And openly traded with other nations. It was the matter of getting a treaty that was the issue. The kings rarely agreed on anything, according to Boyd. But the one thing they held unanimously, was that they traded with only those who had proven worthy of it.

      Stiles was in agreement with the king of the largest island, and had sent notice that Derek’s country requested a trading treaty. Surprisingly, the king had accepted, and would send notice after the wedding. He also, in his generosity, sent a gracious gift of woven gold.

    The cloth was actually, truly made of gold. It was a craft only those of the Isles knew how to make. It was worth a village in of itself. Derek made sure that he returned the favor. Things were moving smoothly. It was just a lot. And there was still more that needed doing.

     When the nights fell, and the day was done, Derek didn’t sleep. Instead, he made his way to Stiles’ chambers. The treaty for their marriage had already been set in place. They were still hashing out their own private details.

     One such issue, was consummation. Derek agreed to _attempt_ to make the union legally binding. Attempt being the operative word. At the very least, it deserved his best effort. To try and quell the descent that was sure to come.

     The final days of the wedding were by far the worst. No one had issued any challenges. But there had been several petitions submitted to call question. The more direct, brutal side of the law had failed. Now, they were trying to dismantle more diplomatically.

      The issue was, of course, as Derek expected. There could be no children. No sire. No heir. There would be no bloodline furthered. This called into account how Stiles would ensure Derek’s safety. And the safety of the treaty. It was a valid point. Stiles shot it down with extreme prejudice.

     It was a rather inelegant statement, but effective all the same. He simply pointed out all the times that, even with heirs, treaties were still violated. Nobles were executed. Lives lost. Wars waged. Essentially, he argued that the producing of children wouldn’t ensure anyone’s safety.

     The nobility had a hard time arguing against that. They had assumed the worst of Stiles right off the bat. And he made sure that he thought the same of them. When the final day approached, Derek’s stomach was in knots.

    He was signing away his life. Marrying a man who knew almost nothing about. About to live in a country surrounded by strangers. Away from everything he had ever known and loved. It was a terrifying reality. One that he hadn’t fully accepted yet.

     Merely hours before the ceremony, his mother comes to his chambers. She is as regal as she ever was. Dressed in stunning purple and blue. In perhaps what was the most expensive dress she’d ever donned. A gift from Stiles.

    Lydia’s family traded in wool and dyes. Making fine cloth for any and everyone who could afford it. Laura and Cora were also dressed in such finery. The gifts were exquisite. That didn’t change his family’s feelings towards the king.

    She hugs him tightly. Fussing over his tunic. Making sure he’s presentable. Because it would be the last time she saw him for the foreseeable future. It takes every last ounce of his willpower not to cry. His mother doesn’t bother with such reservations.

      When he is presented, the nobility stands still as stone. Their rejections were quelled. There was nothing left to do. There was no one left to challenge. No dissent to be had. This was happening. Derek was to be married.

     Stiles is….Stunning. He was a beautiful man. But this….This was something else entirely. The king normally dressed in muted greys and blacks. Today, for their wedding, he wore fine, vibrant yellows. He looked like a fire and a sunrise all together.

     The terrifying crown he normally wore had been replaced by a thin, platinum thing. Adorned with three simple, perfectly cut diamonds. Derek was wearing gold, with seven rubies. A customary piece for the crown prince. It was his family’s legacy, adhered to a fine piece of jewelry.

     He can feel his heart beat into his throat. Sweat beading at the base of his spine. The druid that marries them is stoic and monotone. They don’t swear on any gods. New or old. Derek wasn’t particularly faithful. Neither was Stiles.

     Instead, they simply pledge themselves to each other. To their families. To their countries. To create and uphold peace. To make and maintain prosperity. To have and to hold. All that sentimental jargon. Derek swallowed the lump in his throat.

    When they kiss, it’s not what he had expected. The only lovers he’d had were women. Even as a royal, he was discreet, and as much as his fantasies had wondered, he’d never acted on them. Stiles’ lips are soft. Like rain drying in the sunlight.

      It was only for the briefest of moments. But his wolf stirred, rustling in fanned lust. Even if Derek disliked the idea of marrying Stiles, his wolf, decidedly, didn’t. It saw, as many werewolves did, strength. Honor. Character. Forceful, but compassionate.

      Traits good for a wolf. But Derek was also a man. And he needed more than just that primal simplicity. Still, he adjusted himself to hide his unwitting arousal. Stiles gives no indication that he is aroused. He only smiles.

     It is a bright thing. Like candlelight shimmering against stained glass. It was truly the first, real smile that Derek had seen on the man since they’d met. The man, the more logical side…It took that as a good account. They were married. The treaty was sealed.

     The party that follows is far from lavish. At least, by the standards of a royal wedding. The main attraction was the wine. Stiles had imported the stuff from his country. There were at least a hundred barrels of the stuff. Enough to intoxicate any number of humans. And surprisingly enough, werewolves as well.

     The wine was both delightfully sweet, and terrifyingly strong. Derek, who normally would’ve had to drink an entire barrel, felt lightheaded after only a few glasses. After which, he stopped. Stiles didn’t drink but one. Politely engaging in conversation as the party proceeded.

    Derek welcomed the congratulations from the nobles of his country. Only a small portion of them were, in actuality, sincere. He tried not be annoyed about it. Stiles mustered all the grace within him, and did the same.

     It was a muted affair. Nothing of raucousness or loud shouting. People drank, yes. But there was no foolishness. Talia Hale celebrated her only son getting married. As best she could. His mother was still coming to terms with the fact that he’s be leaving at the end of the week.

     Stiles had no issue with Derek brining his betas along with him. In fact, the king seemed to encourage it. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were willing to follow him to the ends of the earth. Even if they were just going south. Derek appreciated them all the same.

      By night’s end, people were pleasantly drunk, and ready for bed. Stiles looked exhausted. Socializing in this capacity didn’t suit him. Derek mirrored the sentiment. This entire affair had tired everyone involved. He was ready for bed. Or at least, that’s what he wanted.

     There was of course, the consummation. They’d discussed it, at length. Derek was willing to try. Willing to try and make their marriage as legal as possible. They’d already broken every convention there was. A king marrying a prince. He wanted this union to last, and convention, in this circumstance, was best adhered to.

    He excuses himself from the hall, making his way to his personal chambers. A tureen of wine in hand. He’d need a little liquid courage for this. Much like any man of station, he’d had lovers before. But he’d yet to lay with a man. There were of course, rumors of such bedroom activities.

     Blush inducing stories from the more….bold nobility. He had always paid half attention to them. Gossip was never something he indulged in. The games of court…Power. Standing. Station. Love. Heartbreak. Betrayal. All those things seemed irrelevant to him.

    He’d always been focused on bettering his country. On recovering from the war. Living his life as a prince that had renounced the throne. Those were his concerns. That’s where his focus was. But now, as a married man, he had other things that he needed to focus on.

     He’d wondered what kind of lover Stiles was. They hadn’t discussed anything of the sort at length. They’d only discussed that they’d attempt it. Derek never brought up more than that. The whole affair had been stressful. So there wasn’t really much room for thought on the matter.

     The room smells of honey and vanilla. It’d been perfumed by the palace servants. No doubt prepared for the bedding. Derek was at least somewhat grateful. At the very least, Stiles had something to be impressed by.

      The wine has lost its taste. Perhaps it was the stress. Perhaps it just didn’t suit his taste. He never was a drinker to begin with. Social convention aside, he only drank to soothe his nerves. That didn’t exactly suit the situation. But at the point, he didn’t care.

     He begins pouring the second glass just as his chamber doors open. Stiles closes himself in firmly. The echo of the slam pounding out. He was…disturbed. Or perhaps angry. He was swarmed with the cloying scent of wine.

     Neither of them was drunk, but they had been drinking. Stiles’ scent wasn’t muddled with drunkenness as Derek had expected. The man had restrained himself rather well. Now, all that was left, was to consummate. How they proceeded had yet to be decided.

      Derek offers his husband a glass. Which he politely refuses. Instead, he lays down on the bed. Forgoing any commodities or social convention. The sight is…arousing. Stiles’ lithe form, stretched over the sheets. Pale neck alive with his pulse. Derek felt his wolf stir.

 

“Are you that tired?” Derek inquired.

     “I’m a country boy. I was raised in open spaces, where we had plenty of room. I’m not used to so many people in one place. It feels…constricting.”

Derek understood that well enough. There were plenty of days where he felt cramped and suffocated. Where he needed to shift, and take off into the woods, running and hunting. Away from the responsibilities that being a royal carried.

     “You fared well enough, given the circumstances.”

“Given the circumstances…In better ones, I would’ve had most of those nobles whipped. Half eyed me like I was an actual demon. The other half eyed your sister like she was a piece of meat to be butchered and sold.”

     The anger Stiles felt was sincere. Cora, as of now, was the only royal child left available for marriage. She was, in the eyes of the nobility, the last remaining prize. The last piece to move on the board. The last way for someone’s family to rise in station.

     “I’m certain the title of Demon King was more than enough to deter some. The others, well, they can contest now, can they?”

“Let them try. I’m annoyed enough to set fire to something. How you’ve handled being a prince since birth is astounding.”

     That was true enough. Derek was raised as a prince. Lived as a prince. Fought as a prince. He’d been aware of his station from a rather young age. Always ensured that he knew the full knowledge of what his station meant. And the consequences should he abuse it. There’s a reason the Hales had ruled as long as they had.

“If you find yourself too tired from the wedding…We could always wait.”

     “I’d much rather get the whole ordeal over with. No doubt spies lurking round the doors, listening for the telltale sounds.”

The inflection in Stiles’ voice made Derek’s heart leap into his throat. He saw this, truly saw this, as political. Nothing more than a legal obligation. A part of the treaty, and little else. The young alpha had hoped, in some small way, that they’d move towards love. And if not that, something close to it. Acceptance, perhaps.

“I’ve never laid with a man. Royalty offers wealth and power, but little freedom for the bedroom. At least, without being subject to public inquiry.”

      “Inexperienced? Surprising. You’re as beautiful as a seraph. But also as terrifying.” Stiles smiled coyly as he spoke.

“I could say the same of you. They call you Demon King, but you have the exquisite features of a man who does not match the name.”

      “If this is your idea of foreplay, do continue. Compliments from a prince are always welcome.”

Derek could not detect a lie or falsehood. He was, in fact, attracted to Derek. At the very least, they had that mutually shared. It would’ve been far more difficult had they not. Plenty of marriages, such as theirs, did not end well because the two never met.

     He had the good fortune of meeting, and, in part, getting to know the man he was to be bonded with. Stiles was called Demon King. This name stemmed from his execution of a corrupt regime. The throne that he sat on wasn’t one he desired.

    He was bold, and efficient. Cold, and perhaps a little cruel. But he was by no means evil. He did not relish in the idea of violence. Did not relish in the misfortune of others. The king did what he thought was best for his people. What he thought best for his country.

    Derek was in the same position. He was doing what he thought best for his people. For his family. Stiles was a king, and an army came with him. Access to the southern seas. There were numerous benefits to this arrangement.

     But they had to work together. They had to make the effort. Even if they didn’t particularly like one another. The marriage had to remain. They had to secure their union and upkeep it. This was just one step of many.

     He sets the wine goblet down, making his way over to the bed. Stiles does not move. He does not speak. When Derek lays next to him, the scent of the man on his bed makes his vision blur. He had taken no lovers since the war ended. There was time better spent elsewhere.

     But now, here, next to his husband, old parts of him started to stir. More primal things. Attraction was one thing. They had it. At the very least, they had it. Derek wasn’t going to try anything that he knew wasn’t needed. They just had to consummate.

      Stiles’ hands are soft when the frame the features of his face. They traced every line and curve. Almost as if he was drawing a map. He ran a slender finger over the cupid’s bow of his lip. Derek takes it into his mouth.

     The other man shiver at the intimacy of it. Derek takes that as a good sign. When they kiss, it is not fevered or passionate. It is calm and breathless. Stiles tasted of the wine he drank. Sweet, with the barest edge of spice.

     Their hands roam places as such places are roamed. Derek feels heat pool at the base of his spine. His wolf hums with an odd sense of satisfaction. Even though they had yet to do anything other than touch. Even if the man was hesitant, the wolf was ready to accept Stiles as a mate. Which was only slightly terrifying.

     “Forgive me husband, but this is traditionally done without the obstacle of clothing.”

“I quite like you like this. These robes do wonder for your frame. Teasing what may lay beneath it.” Derek was trying to be alluring. Stiles seemed to take interest in it.

     The man rose from the laying position, moving to stand and making near the window. His form was illuminated by shafts of silver light. He was beautiful. Derek was next to him before he could think. Almost as if his body moved of its own accord.

    Stiles hooked his fingers into Derek’s trousers, pulling him closer with a small tug. The alpha, normally, would’ve disdained this action. But his wolf, surprisingly, liked it. It wanted a mate that knew power and control. Blind submissiveness was unattractive. Stiles was anything but.

      Derek slips off part of the man’s robes, revealing the broadness of his shoulders. Stiles’ form was deceptive. Normally hidden under layers. He was, in fact, a very well built man. Lithe with trim muscle. A mark of a laborer. Normally, unwanted by nobility.

    But Derek was not most. He admired the body of a man who’d led a life of work. His history, his stories were marked on his body. Derek kissed the beauty marks that lined the man’s collarbone.  He kisses and kisses. Until he reaches Stiles’ neck.

     Had he been a wolf, this would’ve been a complication. It was a weak spot. A sign of submission. But Derek wasn’t seeking that. He was seeking to please his husband. And humans found such things…Arousing.

     He can feel the man’s pulse drum beneath his tongue. The very essence of his life, like a drumbeat. It was an oddly powerful thing. Terrifying as well. But Stiles did not seem to mind the mouth of an alpha werewolf so close to a vital spot.

    In fact, from the spiciness of his arousal, Derek took it as something he rather enjoyed. He removed more of the robes, revealing the man’s chest. Soft, downy hair peppered his pectorals. The alpha runs a finger over his nipple. It earns him another shiver.

     “Forgive me, husband. But this is most unfair. You’ve taken off plenty from me. Now, time to repay.”

Derek kept his lips on Stiles neck. Using one hand to untie his tunic. The trousers came next. He finished unwrapping his husband at the same time. Robes were rather easy to remove. Much to his delight.

     Stiles was just as beautiful naked as he was clothed. There was a line of hair on his stomach, leading towards his groin. Derek traced it with his fingers. Scratching lightly with blunt, human nails. This time, Stiles finally made a sound. A little moan in the back of his throat. It was nothing compared to what he did Derek took him in his hand.

     Derek, as a general and as a werewolf had been around plenty of naked men. Seen plenty of them. Ran with them. Fought with them. Drank with them. Stiles was….endowed. The alpha gave his husband’s girthy cock a gentle pull. Feeling the heat of his arousal literally pulse through him.

      “Fuck…Derek…you do know how tease, despite claiming that you’ve done this.”

“Believe me, Stiles, I’m not being intentional. I just want to make it…good.”

It wasn’t a lie. The actual sex may have been nothing more than a legal obligation. A piece in which their bonding was finalized. Derek had no qualms about engaging. But he wasn’t going to be a miserable, exasperated lover.

     So, he did what he’d heard in the stories. Which was drop to his knees and take Stiles into his mouth. The man hissed bucking forwards at the sudden contact with his cock. Derek had no experience with this kind of thing. But he’d learn as he went.

       Stiles moved his hand through Derek’s hair as he worked his husband’s cock. Feeling the heat of it move back and forth over his tongue. He could taste the salt of his precome. The spiciness of his arousal. His mate was pleased. His mate was enjoying himself.

     Derek didn’t have long to indulge because his husband pulled him back to his feet. Kissing him with more force than before. His hands removing Derek’s trousers, leaving them a crumpled heap on the floor.

    They were on the bed before Derek had realized that he was being pushed backwards. Stiles on top of him. Their cocks gliding together with sweet friction. Derek could feel his fangs sting in his gums. Losing control was a rarity for him. It seemed that Stiles brought out the more animal side of him. And, he rather enjoyed it.

     “We’re going to need oil. Otherwise, this is going nowhere for either of us.”

Derek knew the purpose of that. He just didn’t want to think about it. What the next step of their consummation was. It made him…uneasy. Stiles was the more experienced one. Knew the ins and outs of two man laying together. He didn’t have the courage to ask.

      So, instead, he rolled over towards his night table, retrieving the small vile that he’d hidden away. Stiles took it from him, uncorking it. Liberally coating Derek’s fingers in the slick fluid. The man took his hand, placing his fingers atop the cleft of his ass.

    The alpha didn’t need any further prompting. He slipped downwards, feeling the hairy pucker of Stiles’ hole. He watched his mate’s breathing. Listened to his heartbeat. Looking for any signs of distress. Of any signs that they needed to stop. Stiles gave him none.

     When the first finger slips into his husband’s pucker, he can feel the man’s entire body tense. Though, it isn’t in a bad way. In fact, his arousal spikes higher. And he moves downwards, encouraging Derek to go deeper.

    He’d never done this with any of his lovers. Nor to himself. He knew that men could find such pleasure in doing so. But he’d never had the courage to find out. Apparently, it was a rather intense feeling. As Stiles cock began to leak onto his belly.

     With one hand opening his husband, Derek used the other to swipe over the tip of his husband’s cock. Relishing in the warmth that spread across his hand. Relishing the taste as he brought it to his mouth. Stiles was…enticing.

     By the third finger, his husband thrummed with energy. He couldn’t keep still. Derek took that as a good sign. As sign that he was ready. And he was, because Stiles straddled Derek, lining his hole with the alpha’s cock.

     It takes only a few seconds, and a little prompting, and Derek was inside Stiles. The man hisses out a breath, and Derek does the same as his cock is enveloped in tight, clenching heat. They move slowly. Taking their time to explore each other. There was no rush.

      After a few minutes, Stiles moved his hips faster. And Derek thrusted his own upwards, fucking into him. They lost all notion of making this last. So, they fucked like animals. Wildly and without restraint. Derek grabbed Stiles’ hips hard enough to leave marks. The man, in turn, grabbed hold of Derek’s chest. Nails leaving scratches as he tried to find purchase.

     When he comes, Derek’s body tenses. He empties himself into his husband. Biting his tongue to keep from saying something he thought best kept to himself. Stiles shoots thick ropes of cum across the wolf’s chest.

    Their scents combined into a spicy, earthy thing that somehow made Derek hard. Well, even harder than he still was. Which was buried to the hilt inside his husband. Stiles was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Derek sat himself up, licking part of his from the man’s stomach. He tasted like heaven.

      “That….That was better than expected.”

“You certainly seemed to know what you were doing. Have been reading undesirable materials, husband?” Stiles smiled as he laid down next to Derek.

     “Certainly not. A prince should never engage in such uncouth activities. But there were…rumors. And I paid attention.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ridicule Derek for his lack of experience. Or poke fun at his efforts. He just kisses him softly. Hand grabbing hold of his chin, pulling him closer. The alpha purrs low in his throat. Like a damn cat basking in the sun on a summer afternoon.

     He can’t find it in himself to care. They’d consummated their marriage, successfully. They were now, in the eyes of the law, fully bound. Derek’s wolf howled with joy. This was a marriage of convenience, and of political alliance. But that didn’t mean they had to act like it did.

     For the moment, Derek was happy to sleep next to his husband. Relishing their combined scent. Embraced by soft, cotton sheets. Bodies still warm. Entangled in a mess of limbs and afterglow. For the moment, he was content. As his eyes became heavy, he wondered how long it would last.

***

Stiles hated traveling. He hated it more than anything he’d ever hated. Thought it was a very short list, the rage he felt was all the same. The wagons the Hales had provided were of excellent quality. Fine oak and mahogany. They road beautifully. That didn’t make the confinement any better.

     There was also the matter of his husband. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. They were wed, they kissed, the entertained the reception. Stiles drank more in three hours than he had in his entire life.

     Not enough to get drunk, but certainly enough to make his cheeks flush red with color. There was a sort of heaviness in his feet. Like he didn’t want to move. Beyond that, he’d stopped. Drunkenness had never suited him. It certainly didn’t for his wedding night.

      He and Derek had agreed to consummate. Well, attempt to. And they did. Quite well actually. Surprisingly well. It had been more than just sex. They….connected. Derek was an attentive lover. Even if he was inexperienced.

       Stiles hadn’t thought that anything beyond baselessness and routine would occur. But he and Derek…They shared intimacy. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t strained. It came naturally. It came easily. And that, among other things, was a problem.

     There was a lot the Hales didn’t know. A lot that Stiles and his family had kept secret. And those secrets could break the treaty. Beyond that, it could start a war. Derek was, objectively, a good man. He knew that. But there was no reason to trust him beyond their marriage.

      The journey back home, the thought continued to eat him alive. Gnawing at the back of his brain. A tick in his stomach. A flutter in his heart. He hated it. He hated every minute of it. That he was so wracked over something that Derek had no right to know.

      Scott didn’t say anything. He still didn’t approve of the marriage. He was even more upset that they had consummated. They all knew the risks. Stiles had chosen the risk regardless. Their marriage needed as much legitimacy as they could give it. And that was the best possible option.

    Lydia was positively beaming. The banshee had always chastised Stiles. At first, because of the choice he had made. She didn’t like the idea of anyone sacrificing on her behalf. And at first, that’s what it had been. Then, it turned into a full blown revolution.

      After that, there was no going back from the choice he’d made. He started a war to save his people. To save his country. As a result, he was king. A king with a horrendous secret. One that could topple everything he and his family had hoped to build.

      That being said….He didn’t dislike the idea of being married. Derek was an alpha, yes. One from royal blood and proud heritage. But he was by no means pompous or overblown. Stiles was happy that, of all the options, he was the one who he wed.

       There was a lot to discuss once they arrived back at the palace. For one thing, Derek’s betas would be living with them as well. Which, in of itself, wasn’t a problem. The problem was their adjusting to living away from everything they’d ever known.

     Wolves were creatures of habit. He’d learned that the hard way with Scott. They didn’t do well outside their environment. The one that they’d known all their lives. It was sure to be a difficult adjustment. Stiles was going to make sure that they had the easiest possible transition.

      There was certainly enough room for all of them. The late king had built far more than he would ever need. With that many open rooms, they could hash out their own territory within the palace walls. Making themselves comfortable.

      There were other matters to attend to. The emperor of the Great East was sending one of his children. Such was the man’s arrogance that he hadn’t even waited for Stiles to respond. He just assumed that his child would be well received.

    He knew why. The first reason being that Stiles had dismantled every last faucet of the slave trade the king and his nobles had built. The heads and traders were executed. All slaves that had yet to be sold were freed. Returned to their families with a healthy satchel of gold.

      The emperor had enjoyed the slaves for nearly a decade, and then cursed its sudden end. Stiles had never personally met the man. But he didn’t think kindly of anyone who approved of purchasing people as property.

    The other reason was because of his marriage to Derek. He had removed the only prince of their mutual neighbor from the royal game. The emperor had many, many children. Derek could’ve had his pick. Now, that was no longer possible.

      That, and Stiles was off limits as well. He’d lost two potential alliances in one go. And a man of that level of hubris would no doubt be displeased with that. Stiles honestly didn’t find himself caring very much. But he would receive the man’s child with the due hospitality.

      He had yet to tell Derek that they’d be having guests so soon after their wedding. But he was never one to delay political affairs. His husband would have to adjust. As they all would. The Great East had been silent since Stiles had become king. Now, things were in motion again.

     Lydia was the most apprehensive. The emperor had many wives, as well as concubines. So, he had over a hundred children. Some were said to possess….abilities. Abilities that no one outside the country had any knowledge of. Which made them dangerous. There many contingencies they had to prepare for.

      Once they cross the border into the Emerald Expanse, Stiles feels all the tension from his body dissipate. He’s home. Where everything was familiar. Where everything made sense. Where he felt his peace return.

       They push the horses as much as they could. Stopping in a clearing in the forest. They set up camp, surrounded by ancient trees. Stiles had little to do. There was much of it, but no one would let him lift a finger. It was the worst part about being king.

     His family understood well enough. But still, they treated him differently. The means was small and subtle. There all the same. He felt it. He saw it. He mourned it. There was no going back to where he had come from. Part of him realized that. Part of him longed for the days of old.

      When the tents were set, and the fires lit, he found himself relaxed in a way that he hadn’t felt for ages. Derek and his betas had shifted. Patrolling the permitted of their camp. Ensuring their safety. Warding off any potential aggressors. It was a magnificent sight.

    Scott was still new the reality of being a werewolf. He’d barely gotten the handle on his status as an alpha. Let alone the power and skill it took to shift to a full wolf. There weren’t any experienced alphas to teach them.

     After the war, they were dead, in hiding, or shipped off to the Great East in chains. Stiles had tried and tried to find texts. Tomes. Anything that could give them insight to what being a werewolf really meant. All he did know, was that Scott needed a pack.

     His best friend was acutely stubborn on the matter. He had been turned against his will be slave traders. They were running out of wolves to export. So, they took feral alphas and turned innocent people. Which then made them able to be sold.

     Scott had said that he would never turn anyone. That choice had been taken from him. So he knew all too well the consequences of being a werewolf. Stiles made a note to ask Derek about such things once they reached the palace.

     His husband came from a renowned line of alphas. He was one himself. His insight would’ve been priceless. The matter at hand was getting him to talk about. They were married, and their countries were allies. That didn’t mean that they trusted each other. Not like that.

       When the run rose, Derek and his betas had already shifted back. And they’d brought breakfast with them. Several deer. Freshly killed and butchered with lethal precision. Stiles was honestly impressed. His husband, much against his character, preened. Just a little.

      They passed through several of the smaller border towns. He stopped and listened where he could. For the most part, his people all desired the same thing. Peace. Peace, and the surety that their loved one would no longer be sold as merchandise. He gave them his solemn vow that, as long as he was king, that would never happen again.

     After several days, they are halfway to the capitol, and stop off in the first major town they find. They are warmly received. The mayor comes and greets them, offering his own home for their lodging. Stiles politely refuses, and tells his men to pitch the tents.

     He may have been a king, and his people may have entrusted themselves to him. But he would not see their beds emptied just for him to fill it. That was both arrogant, and discourteous. Derek and his pack didn’t seem to mind all that much.

      When the camp is made, their hosts bring them dinner. With the mayor and his wife joining them. Stiles welcomes the company. Though, there is something of a sour note. He can tell that there is a tension. Something that needs to be addressed. The mayor waits until they are finished eating before addressing it.

“Your Majesty, we’re are happy to see your safe return. And that you’ve…married.”

     Stiles didn’t need to be a genius to understand the undertone. Werewolves were one thing. But a king marrying a prince. Unthinkable. The mayor was either mannered enough to not mention it, or fearful enough to know better.

“Our alliance with my husband’s family will prove beneficial in time. For now, he needs to settle. Now, the matter you wish to address.”

      “There have been…thefts. Food and water stolen. Livestock that’s gone missing. We’ve caught the thief….But…..”

“Speak freely, I won’t have your head for it.”

      “The thief is a boy, your majesty. Now more than sixteen. And….A wolf.”

Stiles stood, saying nothing as he moved towards the town’s jail. Derek and Scott followed. As did the mayor. When they arrived, the guards parted without a word. He knows that wolves, in a human town, would be held in the most secure cell.

     The wolf that lays there is in relatively good shape, all things considered. He is indeed a boy. His eyes glare gold upon Stiles’ arrival. More than likely, the issue is Derek and Scott. Two alphas, this close to a rouge. It was amazing that he was able to resist the urge to simply roll over.

      Stiles knows that the boy isn’t evil. He’s just hungry. More than likely, he was like Scott. Forcibly turned by slave traders. But, managed to escape. And had been stealing to survive. At the very least, he hadn’t killed an innocent. His gold eyes were proof of that.

“This is him?”

     “Yes, Your Majesty.” At realizing that he was being addressed by the king, the boy physical flinched away. The first sign of fear in his breast.

“Well, hello little wolf. Might I have your name?” The answer he got was a low snarl. A clear warning to back off.

     The mayor moved to shout, to verbally thrash the boy. Stiles raised a hand, silencing the thrashing before it started. That would’ve served no purpose beyond agitating him further. Which, of course would’ve solved nothing.

“You’re in a unique position to have your case heard directly by a king. Wiser men than you have wasted it. I suggest you don’t.” The wolf breathes, then speaks.

     “Liam.” His eyes are still gold.

“Liam, lovely to meet you. Though I must say, I dislike thieves. It was the entire reason I left for our neighbors to the north. There was nearly a war because of it.”

      “Just took a few chickens.” It wasn’t even an attempt at a defense.

“Whether you took a few, or the whole coop, a thief you remain. So the question is, what to do? Husband, in your country, how are thieves punished?”

 Derek said nothing. Stiles could see that his husband was surprised that he had been brought into the conversation. They may not be friends, and barely allies. But Derek was a prince and a general. He was raised to rule. Stiles was not. He didn’t want to administer a punishment out of either ignorance, or anger.

      “Traditionally, their left middle finger is cut off. A punishment, and as a brand. That others may know their crime. That they would never be welcomed outside of their own kind.”

“Extreme, and to my mind, ineffective. We brand a thief, a thief he will remain forever. I, in turn, have another idea.”

      Stiles turned towards his friend. His lifelong friend, who had refused to take a beta. Now, there was a perfect opportunity in front of him. The boy was already turned, and needed a pack. He needed an alpha. Scott was in a perfect position for it.

     The young wolf gave no opposition. Partly, Stiles thought, because he knew that he had no choice in the matter. The other, was because he pitied the boy. He had been turned, and his life thrown to the dirt. His family may very well be dead. He had no one. He had nothing.

“If the mayor is so inclined, you will serve out your sentence as one of Scott’s betas. And I will provide the gold to repay for what you have stolen. In return, you will do as you are instructed.”

     “And what if I say no?” The boy was testing his limits. Stiles decided to let him know what they were.

“Then you are the mercy of this town. And they, may not be so kind as to forgive you. We are recovering from war. Thieves are rarely seen it good light. Now, more so than ever. Choose wisely, little wolf.”

     Stiles doesn’t say anything else. He leaves the jail, Derek in tow. Scott stays. Most likely, to try and talk some sense into the boy. He hopes it works. There had been enough death. There had been enough misery. Yes, he disliked thieves. But Liam was a rare exception.

     He had stolen for his survival. Never taking more than what he needed to keep from starving. At the very least, Stiles could understand that. He could forgive that. He could give a second chance. Liam was not Peter Hale. The boy had no power, no standing. Stiles would not let his temper get the best of him.

     The caravan is already in the process of being packed away for the night. Leaving them with little else to put away before the morning. Stiles retires to his tent, exhausted and in great need of sleep. Though, he is too tense to find it.

     Derek, surprisingly, joins him. His husband doesn’t say anything. He simply lays down beside Stiles. Nestling himself in the furs. They embrace in the softest of ways. He knew why. Wolves, much like people, were tactile creatures. They craved comfort. It was a part of their identity. It was part of their pack structure.

      Stiles didn’t know if the act was genuine. That Derek not only considered him to be his husband, but a part of his pack. That would’ve made things more…intense. There were a lot of words for that. He knew some of them. But he also knew that Derek hadn’t known him long enough for it.

     When they sleep, it is uncommonly restful. Stiles almost never slept well when away from home. But there was something about Derek. A warmth…A sense of grounding that he found that settled him. That made him relax. As his eyes closed, he told himself the truth. That he could never have this. Not from Derek. It would destroy everything.

***

There was more to Stiles than Derek had originally thought. He was king, yes. But not in the traditional sense. He had become the ruler of his country by means of necessity. The previous king had made slaves of shifters. Had killed and chained and exported.

    When they weren’t enough left, he took anything that wasn’t human. Stiles, as well his countrymen decided enough. They fought back. They won. And in the end, Stiles was king. And as king, he removed everyone that had made slavery possible.

     Which was the head of almost every noble house. As well as the previous king. Derek knew why he did what he did. He even understood it. That didn’t mean that he was any less afraid of the man. He’d more than proven what he was willing to do for the good of his countrymen.

      When the mayor serves dinner, it is a rather muted affair. The humans in town neither love nor hate Stiles. They simply welcome him as king. It is an expected reception. Derek, however, does notice there is a certain coldness.

     The fact that their king had come back married, to a foreign prince, had not been welcomed. No one said anything. No one made any comments, passing or otherwise. But Derek could tell all the same. He wasn’t welcome. That much, he knew for certain.

     At the very least, his betas seemed to find something close to friends. If not the townsmen, then in Stiles’ party. Lydia and Erica were inseparable. Scott and Isaac bonded rather well. Even Boyd, normally so stern and pensive, was smiling.

      The only real issue came when the mayor brought news of a thief. They’d caught the boy, and a boy he was. Derek could tell that he was a rouge before he even saw him. The smell told him that much. He had no alpha. No pack.

      Stiles’ face remains blank. Careful, thoughtful words chosen as to not agitate the omega further. Derek is afraid for him. His husband does not like thieves. He’d said so himself. But, much to the alpha surprise, Stiles forgoes any idea of cruel punishment.

    In fact, he offers a place for the omega. In Scott’s pack. In their pack. To serve out his sentence. Rather than the usual mangling. At least, that’s how they did it in Derek’s country. Stiles had asked as such. Which was another surprise.

    Derek hadn’t expected to be involved in any decision making. Of any kind. But his husband had asked him. Even if it was only something so simple. He’d included Derek in a political, judicial decision. As a foreign prince, he’d thought the sidelines was where he was to be relegated.

     Stiles gives the wolf, Liam, time to consider his choices. The omega would’ve been a fool to refuse the king’s offer. The townsmen would’ve kept him locked away. With no chance for an alpha. No chance for a pack. Until he slowly went insane. And they had no other choice but to kill him.

      Derek leaves with his husband. Following him to the tent they had set up. The man smells of tiredness, and something like anger. Maybe stress. It was hard to tell. Derek’s wolf howled and thrashed. Demanded that they comfort their mate.

     It was a terrifying thought. Thinking of Stiles as a mate. They’d only known each other a short while. They knew only the barest of details. They were allies, and they were married. But that didn’t mean that they were friends. Or that they even trusted each other.

     But…as much as he shouldn’t have…Derek did trust him. If only slightly. Stiles was a terrifying young man. That much, with all his history, was true. Even still, he was not unjustly cruel or unkind. Did he have a slight temper, yes. But he surrounded himself with people who kept it in check.

     The wolf saw this as a good match for a mate. Even if they couldn’t have children. Though they couldn’t have a traditional family. There was also the matter of Stiles’ strength. He had defeated not one, but _three_ alphas who’d challenged him.

     No weapons. No tricks. Just himself and his magic. Strength, the wolf admired that more than anything. An alpha needed a strong mate. A strong mate meant a strong pack. A strong pack meant prosperity. Derek couldn’t argue with that. Even if he wanted to.

      They sleep together. The first night since they were wed. The first night since their consummation. Derek felt his wolf purr with contentment. He was happy. To be beside his husband. Stiles curled around him. Wrapping his arms around the Derek’s middle.

    Resting his mouth near his neck. It wasn’t a violation, or an affront. As such things would’ve normally been. He was not seeking submission. He was not trying to assert authority. His husband simply felt comfort. Derek leaned into the embrace. Sleeping better than he had in years.

    Derek wakes to find the furs still warm, but his husband gone. He must’ve just gotten up. When he exits the tent, most of the caravan has finished packing. They would be back on the road within the hour. He finds his husband talking with the mayor.

     The omega, Liam, is freshly bathed in clean clothes. He’d had a lick of good sense after all. Scott was a good man, and would make for an excellent alpha. But one beta wouldn’t be enough. He’d need more if he was to keep his wolf under control. He made a note to mention it as he walked over.

      He nestles his nose into Stiles’ neck, scent marking his husband. In return, the man runs his hands through Derek’s hair. The mayor’s nose crinkles at their embrace. Derek ignores him. He’s happy. He’s content. He’s with his husband.

     Though, he does notice something different. Stiles had been fair, by southern standards anyway. Almost pale. Save for the many moles across his jaw and neck. This morning, he seemed paler somehow. As if he had not seen the sun in years.

     Derek chalks it up to his still sleep heavy eyes. There was nothing to worry about. With the mayor surrendering Liam, they would soon be on their way. It was another two days towards the capitol with the caravan. So, he set himself to work.

      His betas had already started readying the horses. The beasts were sturdy, and well trained. That didn’t mean they could be rode roughly, and be expected to keep in shape. They were hearty, and needed hearty food.

      The three of them set to making sure they were fed. And that the reins were properly secured. Derek couldn’t have been prouder. With the work nearly done, they begin to load up. All in all, they are back on track before the sun had finished rising.

    As usual, he rides alongside the caravan. Happily uses his enhanced senses to keep track of threats. He may not have been familiar with this country. He patrolling and protecting a caravan’s passengers was a rather unanimous task, no matter the location.

      Stiles rides in his nondescript wagon. With his father and Scott. Derek does not see him until they make camp again. The process repeats itself until, at long last, the reach the capitol. The reception that welcomes them is…Grand.

      Though Derek knows that the nobility is less than enthused with their king coming home with a foreign prince as a husband. Even if he hadn’t been foreign, the fact that he’d brought home a husband would’ve caused descent.

     They pay him no mind as they cheer their king. Derek does not know if it’s genuine. He was call the Demon King. Perhaps they were just happy that their king was back, and that they had someone to voice their complaints to. Perhaps it was just a default reaction.

    The palace is the same as he remembered it. Opulent, flawless marble. Derek was still in awe over the whole thing. The fact that the previous king had ran every mine in the country dry to build it. That he’d made slaves of his own subjects to levy his debts.

    The ruling family before the Hales had slaves. When they took power, like Stiles did, they industry was disbanded. Though, they did it over the course of several decades. Rather than using sheer, brutality. Regardless, the Hales had never allowed slavery. And severely punished anyone who sold people. Wolf or otherwise.

     There was still a lingering anger in Stiles. The anger of losing so many of his countrymen. So many friends. Even complete strangers. He felt that loss deeply. Now that the throne was his, he was in a unique position.

      They weren’t friends yet. They followed convention, and little else. Derek hoped that one day, when things settled, and the world seemed a little less mad, that they would get the time to know each other. That their marriage would grow beyond one of convenience. He had no delusions of love. But he hoped for something close to it.

      After they disembark, everyone is ready to collapse. It had been a good journey, but a long one. All parties were tired. But even still, Stiles wasted no time. One of the nobles had arranged a party for their reception. The king, with grace, cancelled the entire thing. At least for now. No one was in the mood for a party. Derek made sure to thank his husband.

     When the sun starts to set, they settle in. eat good food. Enjoy the warmth of a hearty fire. It almost felt like home. Derek was…comfortable. For the moment at least. He knew that there was no danger to him or his pack here. That they would sleep well.

     Which he did. In fact, he dreamed rather thoroughly. He dreamed of Stiles. He dreamt of his hands. His slim, clever fingers. What he could do…What he wanted his husband to do with them. Where he wanted to the pinch. Where to scratch. Where to hold. Where to never let go.

    He imagine the electric musk of his husband’s scent. The strength of it. The scent of their come, sweat, and afterglow. All mixed together. They had consummated. And it had been…good. Better than good. But Derek knew that it could be better.

     For the first time since he was a hormonal pup, he comes in his sleep. Waking, rock hard. Stomach painted white. Thankfully, he’d not shared the bed with Stiles that night. And was free of embarrassment. He was not free, however, of his wolf.

     The alpha had bonded with his husband more than he originally thought. Which of course meant that he had a decision to make. Even if it would risk damn near everything that he’d secured with this marriage. If it meant that Stiles might reject him. Even if it meant that he might end up alone.

     That’s where he was now. His husband wasn’t a wolf, and didn’t know what it meant to be one. Even if his best friend was. He also didn’t know the significance of being an alpha. And what bonding with an alpha meant. What being married to one meant.

     Derek didn’t, at the time, have the courage to tell him. To sit him down and explain. Explain everything that could, and would most likely happen. He didn’t have the courage. But now, he didn’t have a choice. Well, he did.

     He could suffer through it alone. Endure the agonizing pull of his wolf. Of the moon. Howl and whine and whimper. Or, he could take the risk. Take the risk, and trust in his husband. To trust in Stiles. To trust in his king. Derek didn’t know which was more terrifying. But he did know that he was running out of time.

***

Stiles was ready to kill someone. Multiple someones actually. He hadn’t been this stressed since he first became king. And that was saying something. For the most part, things were going well. For the most part. The parts that weren’t going well….War seemed a treat compared to this.

     Their reception upon arriving home had been a horrid, nonsensical show of utter flattery. The nobility, what remained of them, smiled their best smiles. Cheering and waving. Welcoming back their king. That was the face they presented to the public.

    In private, most of them were furious. Stiles knew why. Firstly, he’d entered an alliance to a foreign country without consulting any of them. The most powerful families in their country, completely ignored. The next part, of course, was wedding a prince from said foreign country.

    There was the usual, distasteful commentary. He silenced all of it. There was of course, also, the discussion of his heirs. That he could not sire a child with a prince. He reminded them that he had no intention of ever doing so to begin with.

     The successor to the throne, if there still was a throne, would be chosen directly. It would not be handed down like one would pass down a trinket. He would choose the best possible person to take the mantle of his country.

     This of course, crushed countless ambitions. The daughters of every noble house would now have to look elsewhere for a seat of power. The nobility was quietly furious about that as well. Stiles had stolen their opportunity for rising in station. And he’d do it a thousand times over.

      The next part, the part that was currently giving him a headache, was the reception. The emperor of the Great East was sending one of his children. Due to arrive in a week’s time. There were several problems with this.

    Firstly, he didn’t want to discuss anything with some sixteenth prince. He wanted to speak directly to the emperor himself. To reclaim his countrymen. The ones that had been clasped in chains, and sold like cattle. Discussing it with some royal low in the line of succession wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

     He had yet to tell Derek about the upcoming affair. There was no real reason not to. But at the same time, Stiles couldn’t find a reason to. There was trust between them. That much was certain. There was also plenty left that had remained in silence.

     Derek, as the crown prince of a foreign nation, would’ve had his own secrets. Stiles knew of a few. There was a war. One of the great families rebelled against the crown. Inciting civil war. Their country had been torn in two.

     Derek’s father, the king, had been lost in the evacuation efforts. He was an honorable man. Rather than sit behind fortified walls, he went straight to the battlefield. Helping his people to safety. It was also the reason Derek was an alpha.

     Stiles hadn’t heard the full story. Only bits and pieces from the nobility. It had caused a complication. Laura, as the firstborn, was heir to the throne. But, when their father died, and Derek became an alpha, the status put him ahead of her in succession.

     This complicated things. He was the younger sibling, but tradition dictated otherwise. So, in an effort to prevent more strife, his husband had renounced the crown. Renounced the throne. It a rather untraditional move.

     Most men that Stiles had met would’ve clamored for any piece of power they could get. Derek, not wanting a piece of it, threw it away for the sake of his country. Stiles admired that about his husband. He’d lost much in the fangs of war. And he sacrificed even more to keep the peace they had found.

     It was one of the reasons he wanted to place more trust in the man. To give more of himself. To finally, after three long years, trust someone outside of his family. It was a fever dream. A realization that hit him in the face.

     The price he paid for his power would keep that from him, forever. He could never trust anyone outside his family. Not with the secrets he held. Not with what he knew. Not with the sins he’d committed.

   For now, he needed to focus on the reception. On hosting this emperor’s spawn. He disliked the idea more and more. He knew almost nothing of their culture. What they found welcoming. And what they found offensive. It was sure to be an arduous task. The best he could hope for was an agreeable royal.

    The preparations were going smoothly. It was the matter of the preparations themselves that was so vexing. The emperor of the Great East was a pompous man. That much, Stiles knew. On the rare occasion that he travelled, his procession numbered in the hundreds.

    They had to prepare to both feed and house that many people. There was also the matter of slaves. Stiles, of course, had outlawed the slave trade. That was the whole reason for the war. That didn’t mean the Great East would honor that.

      He wanted to reception to go well. But he also didn’t want to stand idly if his countrymen arrived back home, still in chains. That, he would take issue with. They were recovering from one war. They couldn’t handle another.

     Even with their alliance with the Hales. They were recovering as well. The kings of the Golden Isles would not lend a single drop of aid. They were decidedly neutral on the matter of war. They would trade, and supply. But there would be no soldiers. No weapons.

      They needed the reception to go well. The matter at hand, the matter that could destroy them, was Stiles’ temper. He had been working on it. His momentary outbursts. The ones that sometimes threatened peace. That sometimes threatened to tear down everything he built.

       At one point, he stormed out of the throne room. His nerved flayed and fried. Too much happening at once. Too much happening, and not enough space in his mind for it. There was only so much he could take before he cracked.

    There were days where he wished he could drink. Like so many of the previous kings did. But he had no real taste for alcohol. No real desire for drunkenness. That, and he couldn’t very well be a king if he drank every time something stressed him.

    Instead of flinging himself into intoxication, he opted to instead make his way towards the western veranda. It had a delightful, open view of the horizon. There, he felt like he could breathe. Like the world wasn’t quite so small. As if, for but a moment, he didn’t have to worry about being king.

     The air is slightly cooler outside, than in the palace. Even with his magic, enforced by the court mages, the palace was too large to cool and heat full term. Under normal circumstances, it was only during the most extreme of days.

    The hottest summers and the coldest winters. Thankfully, their country was blessed with relatively moderate weather. Stiles didn’t have to worry about the fierce, unrelenting hurricanes that often trampled the utter north.

     Add in the extreme cold once the storms hit, and things were often encased in ice for weeks. Or so he’d heard. The farthest he’d ever travelled was to the Hales. He wasn’t much for it. The Northerners we too far away to trade with, so it never concerned him.

       His mind continues to focus on idle things. Giving the young king a moment of peace. Which he fully intended to savor. It is broken by a pair of arms wrapping him from behind. There was no malice or ill will in the embrace. So, he allows it.

     Erica had not said much since he had married Derek. She was one of his husband’s betas. The only woman. But no less fierce for the matter. The young she-wolf broke every notion of convention. Wicked, and strong willed. Ruby lips curled into a smile that could swallow the universe.

       He wondered what her life had been like when she was human. What she had done. How she had lived. If she was turned because she truly desired it. Or if she was turned because of the war. And Derek had saved her from an untimely fate.

      These were just a few of the many questions he had. So many questions. Not just for her. But for Isaac and Boyd as well. He knew very little of his husband’s pack. Which wasn’t exactly encouraging. Stiles knew very little about how werewolf pack’s functioned, but he knew that he held rank.

     As the husband of the alpha, that elevated him in status. As a king, even more so. At least, that’s what he thought. He had been too timid to ask. It seemed….invasive. He and Derek may have been married. But he was still, by all considerations, an outsider.

     That didn’t stop the she-wolf from hugging him. By human standards, it was a gross upset in propriety. He was a king, and she was, by all accounts, a commoner. Even if her alpha was of royal blood. The nobility would’ve had a fit.

     But at the back of his mind, he didn’t find himself caring all that much. Ever since he took the throne, casual intimacy had all but gone from his life. He was a king, and a king did not engage in such things. Erica, the little minx, didn’t seem to mind the rules. And Stiles was grateful for it.

      “You seemed perturbed. Everything all right?” Her question was honest. It surprised him.

“I am king, and that means due amounts of stress. Nothing a little air can’t fix.”

      “It smells a lot more than just stress. Almost like anger….”

These wolves were keener that Scott was. Stiles hated it. in some small, illogical way, he thought of it as a violation of his privacy. That his feelings weren’t his to keep in secret. But at the same time, he knew wolves didn’t view things like that.

      Erica was reacting to his distress. She was doing what any beta would do for their alpha’s betrothed. Which was try and comfort them. He appreciated it. He wanted it more than she could ever possibly know. It was difficult to come to terms with.

“You’re observant. A trait often undervalued in women.”

     “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” She was smiling that smile of hers.

“I know all too well the arrogance of men. And how they view those they think their lesser. You’re a dangerous thing, Erica. Don’t ever let anybody tell you otherwise.”

    The she-wolf seemed to take pleasure in that. She embraced him further, rubbing her chin along the back of his neck. Stiles knew about scent marking, to an extent. Scott did it quite frequently. Though, he didn’t understand that totality of its purpose.

    He knew that wolves used scent to identify pack. And that pack marked each other with their scents. Used it as a marker, and as a sign of comfort. He did ask Scott about it once, but all he’d said was that it was instinctual.

     That didn’t give Stiles much to go on. But, he knew that Erica considered him pack now. At the very least, he could hold that in his corner. Being married to her alpha granted him at least that much. In return, he ran slender fingers through her hair. Lightly rubbing her head as he did so.

 

“You should be this way with Derek. He may not seem like it, being the stern alpha and all. But all wolves crave it.”

     “Yes, I’ve been told. But craving and consenting are two different things. We consummated our marriage out of legal necessity. That does not mean casual intimacy is suddenly okay.”

“You and the idiot alpha of mine need to quit with unnecessary angst. Yes, you married for political reasons. That’s fine. But you don’t have to act like half ass lovers. He’ll embrace you. You just have to let him.”

     Stiles contemplated the meaning behind Erica’s words. He’d feared growing too close to Derek. He knew the potential consequences. And what he would reap should they come to pass. And yet…Yet he did want intimacy. He craved it like a drowning man craved air.

     He and Derek were in a political marriage, yes. They were expected to keep the alliance for the betterment of each other’s countries. But they could be more…The issue at hand was if they became too much. He wanted to trust his husband. To have faith.

      But there were some secrets that went beyond trust. That went beyond faith. That could never be brought to the light of day. Because of they did, if what Stiles had done were known to the rest of the world, his would come crashing down on his head.

 

***

Derek was wondering what had his husband so on edge. There was no denying that there was a certain…tension. Stiles had been on the verge of snapping since the arrived at the palace. That came with its own set of problems.

    Firstly, his wolf. He and Stiles had bonded more than he’d predicted. When they’d consummated their marriage, a connection had been forged. Derek hadn’t wanted, or intended for it to happen. It just did. Now, his wolf was rowdier than ever.

      It sensed the distress of his husband. It demanded that they comfort Stiles. That they take him back to the bed chambers. To wrap themselves in a fine sheets, nesting into warmth. Comforting their mate. Which was a terrifying thought in of itself.

     Stiles being his mate…complicated things. It was essentially the same as humans considered their spouses. Only far more intense. Far more intimate. In ways that Stiles wouldn’t have been able to understand. The wolf didn’t explain in words. It explained in action.

     Stiles wasn’t a wolf. He needed words. He needed explanation. He need to be told what it meant. What lay in store if they solidified the bond. If they truly, completely finalized their connection. So, Derek resisted every last instinct he had. Which of course, created another set of problems.

    The one that caused him the most distress, was his betas. Any stress, any anxiety he felt, they felt as well. He found himself comforting them frequently. It was hard to be a husband and a prince and an alpha all in the same capacity.

      If Stiles noticed, he didn’t say anything. More than likely, he had no idea. The man wasn’t a wolf. And even though he was, by definition, pack, he didn’t experience the same feeling as if he were a beta. Derek didn’t know how to explain his position.

    An alpha’s mate was equal to that of the alpha themselves. That meant, the held a high set of rank and authority. Technically, he could give Isaac, Erica, and Boyd orders. And they, compelled by the pack bond, would be made to obey.

     There was a certain level of risk involved in not telling Stiles this power that he had. Derek wanted to trust him. That’s what pack did. But their marriage was political. And that meant that they had work to do in that department.

     In light of that, he spent his free time familiarizing himself with the denizens of the palace. The nobility came in and out through all hours of the day. Derek made sure to make a presence of himself. At some point, he’d have a ruling stake in this country. He needed to know exactly what he was getting himself into.

     For the most part, the nobility absolutely hated him. Even if they never said and did anything outright. He could tell. Being raised a prince meant he had a great deal of social knowledge within the court. The country may be different, but the game of politics was the same as it ever was.

    He smiled his best smile throughout all of it. Surprisingly, the only family that didn’t seem to resent him, was the McCalls. Scott’s family had been, like Stiles, commoners. And like Stiles, once the war was over, had been elevated to nobility.

     Derek didn’t know much about their station now. Scott was a royal adviser. But he was not a general. Or a minister of any kind. Perhaps the king just like having his friend close by. Derek had yet to fully decipher that relationship.

     As the days went on, his wolf became more and more distressed. As did his betas. Things were getting worse. With Stiles as well. There was talk of a reception. For who, the alpha didn’t know. All he did know, was that it was a great deal of stress. For everyone in the palace.

      It reached a breaking point when the full moon came to its halfway point. Derek’s wolf had been growing more and more restless. It wanted the touch of their mate. It wanted their mate’s scent. They hadn’t even shared a bed since arriving. The whole ordeal was becoming too much. Derek didn’t know how much longer he could last.

     Then one night, there was a knock at his chamber doors. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching. Which meant it could only be one person. Sure enough, when he opened the doors, there stood his husband. Dressed in loose fitting night robes. Derek’s wolf roused at the sight.

 

“Is it wrong to call on my husband at such a late hour?”

     “Never.” Derek showed him inside. The man went straight for the bed.

He felt his wolf howl with lust. They had not laid together since their consummation. But Stiles was not here for that. At least, Derek didn’t think he was. And even if he was, that was another conversation entirely. Even still, the alpha joined his husband in bed.

     “It has occurred to me that I have been…neglectful.”

“And in what capacity would you find that to be?” Derek was genuinely curious.

     “I don’t understand the way packs work. Scott isn’t the best at explaining, as he was bitten. I just know that there are certain…desires. Certain instincts. And I’ve not been allowing you to indulge.”

“I never got your permission. You’re human. The rules are different.”

      Stiles looked at him as a miner would after finding a vein of gold. Eyes alight with wonder and intrigue. Slender fingers wrapped between his own. Holding hands was such a simple, yet comforting gesture. Derek reveled in the sensation.

“You speak as if making an attempt to protect my virtue.”

     “As if there was any to protect.” Stiles smiled as brilliantly as the sun.

“It’s been brought to my attention, that if this marriage is to truly work, communication might be in our best interest.”

     “The wolf…It doesn’t do well with words. It does with action. Lives by it. Loves by it. That’s why it’s so difficult. That’s what I haven’t….I just don’t know how to make it clear in a way that you’d understand.”

“Then show me.” The sincerity in Stiles’ voice could’ve stilled a storm in its tracks.

    Derek didn’t know where to start. The wolf had plenty of ideas. To strip Stiles bare. Take his cock into his mouth. To taste his virility. To make him sweat and come. To mount him in fever, and fuck him into the bed.

     That’s what the wolf wanted. That’s what it wanted to express. That Stiles was mate. But that’s not how pack worked. That’s not how pack functioned. And that’s what Stiles was asking about. So, Derek wrapped himself around his husband.

     Entangling their bodies together. The warmth of each other taking the chill out of the night air. Their scent began to mingle. A neutral sort of musk. Causal. Easy. Soft. Derek loved every bit of it. This is what pack meant. This is what pack did.

     They comforted each other. They protected each other. They had trust in each other. This was what he wanted Stiles to know. That even without words, he was pack. He was an alpha’s mate. He was more than he realized. He was more than he thought.

     His husband seemed to understand. Because he pressed his head under Derek’s chin. Nestling himself there. The alpha relished it. Stiles’ scent was concentrated here. Where he could feel and decipher each and every part of it.

     They were still a long way from knowing each other. From truly, completely being husbands. Even if their marriage was political. Even if it was for the sake of an alliance. They could, and would make it more than that. Derek could only hope that it didn’t fall apart in the process.

***

The day of the arrival, Stiles was decidedly less stressed than he’d been for the last two weeks. He and Derek had come to a…understanding. They’d come to know each other. If only a little. And Stiles had learned what it meant to be pack.

     His husband had said that it wasn’t something that words could give life to. Not in a sense that a human could understand. Not that Stiles was human. So, the alpha had showed him in other ways. Pack embraced one another. Pack comforted one another.

    It was human intimacy, increased tenfold. It was…nice. Stiles hadn’t been able to enjoy such a thing since becoming king. And now that he had, he didn’t want to ever give it up. So, he didn’t. Even in the presence of the nobility.

     He casually embraced his husband with all manner of tiny affections. It sent shockwaves throughout the families. A king was supposed to be dignified. A king was supposed to refined. A king was supposed to be regal. Stiles had never been any of those things, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now.

      Within an hour of the emperor’s child arriving, he had prepared the reception. There were several heads of houses present. No one from the Great East had ever visited their country. At least, not in the last few centuries. They were a reclusive nation. Even their traders kept to themselves.

     When the palaces doors open, everyone holds their breath. The woman that arrives is stunning. Merchants of the Great East had always been secretive with the art of their fabrics. Stiles, upon seeing the princess, could understand why.

     She is every bit a summer sunset. Fabulous oranges, yellows, and reds. All woven into her robes. With the barest hit of pink at the edges of her sleeves. Raven sleek hair spun into an intricate braid. It sat atop her head like a crown.

     Slender eyes examined each and every person in the room. A silent assessment of those who were receiving her. The ones that accompanied her were dressed down by comparison. There were fewer than he expected.

      They are women. All of them, women. Eyes cast towards the floor. Following as silent sentinel behind their lady. Stiles had never been accompanied by more than three guards. There was no reason for any more. He was strong enough to protect himself. As was she.

     From the feel of her, she had magic. Like his, but also like Derek’s. It was an old thing. Like a stone weathered by a flowing river. Or an ancient tree that had buried its roots to match a mountain. She was indeed as strong, if not stronger than him.

      He could see why the emperor sent her. The tactic was simple. She was an intimidation. If these meetings went sour, they could all very well be in danger. In this moment, he’d be putting his name to the test. As well as everything he and his family had hoped to build.

 

“May I present, Her Royal Eminence, Third daughter of the His Excellency of the Great Dragon, Heir to the Storm Plains, and Empress of Lightning, Kira Yukimura.” The handmaiden never lifted her eyes from the ground.

      “May I present, His Majesty, Ruler of the Land, Keeper of Peace, and Stronghold of Honor, Mieczysław Stilinski.” His father wasn’t a learned man, but he could make an entrance when the occasion called for it.

     The princess takes her seat, following her handmaidens to the makeshift throne that they had prepared. Stiles had it made on short notice. It was by no means grand, but it was a sign of respect regardless. Hopefully, it was enough to impress.

“Welcome to our country. This is my husband, His Royal Highness, Derek Hale.”

      “Father had heard of the marriage. He was…unsettled with the union.” Her voice sound like rain falling on grass. Stiles had to resist being entranced.

“Do such unions find the emperor in distaste? Our marriage sealed our two nations. Albeit in a nontraditional sense.”

      “I sense that there is much about you that isn’t traditional.” The princess smiled like viper.

He knew a dig when it was spoken. Her tone was even, and nonthreatening. But he knew that she was testing. Testing how far she could push things before she fell into disrespect. Before Stiles found a reason to excuse her from both the palace, and the country.

     “I suspect much isn’t traditional about you as well. From what I hear, your father prefers the presence of his sons. Not his daughters. So, pray tell, why has he sent you all this way?” It was Stiles turn to smile.

“I’m better than my brothers in terms of negotiation. Why, of course, is why I’m here.”

     “Oh, I wasn’t aware that there was anything to negotiate. Only that your father sent a notice that one of his children would be arriving. And that I didn’t even have the option of refusing.”

“Of course not. Your country still has a debt to pay.”

     Stiles felt the magic thrum at the tips of his fingers. This is what he had feared the most. That the emperor was not here to discuss an alliance. Or some manner of a trade agreement. The man had heard of his and Derek’s marriage.

     And in hearing of it, assumed that they now had a surplus of gold in which to pay him with. Even if they did, that wasn’t part of the treaty. That wasn’t negotiated during their many talks. At no point had Stiles even considered brining the subject to attention.

      He wasn’t about to shackle Derek and his countrymen with the mistakes and sins of the former king. They weren’t responsible for his treachery. They weren’t going to pay for it. Stiles wasn’t going to pay for it either.

     “The debts you speak of died with the previous king. Removed, along with his head. As well as the heads of the nobility.”

“That, dearest king, is not how debt works. Your previous king imported much of our marble. We lost many men transporting it across the desert. My father expects recompense.” Kira was no longer smiling.

     “What’s the saying? Want in one hand….Well, you get the idea.” Stiles smiled again.

The princess seemed to shift and mold and buzz. There was power there. She was making a display. She was trying to see if they were afraid. The wolves may have been. Even as the air seemed to crackle, Stiles did not flinch.

      “The emperor will be most…unhappy. You decision incites less than desirable consequences.”

“Your words are that of trickster. Always skirting the truth, always skirting the point. Always moving one way, when you should move another. Speak plainly. Or do not speak at all.”

     For the first time, the princess showed a flicker of anger. Her handmaidens knelt. Eyes now pressed firmly to the floor. Away from their lady. Stiles could sense that he had struck a nerve. He couldn’t very well be pressed to find concern in the matter.

      “Pay your debts, what it is rightfully owed to my father, or there will be war.”

The princess actually crackled now. Little bolts of power, of lightning swam and danced around her as she stood. Stiles was right, she was by no means human. Then again, neither was he. And two could play this game.

    He rose from where he stood. Fingers burning. Eyes swarming with red, angry swirls. There was rage, and then there was this. He was never one to be intimidated. Even before he became what he was now. With a snap of his fingers, the princess was trapped.

     Manipulating mountain ash was one of his finer tricks. He’d spent months training and perfecting the technique. Right down to the very art that it was. Kira lashed out. Finding herself stuck in a barrier that would not budge. Not for a single moment.

“Your father sent you because of your power. Too bad. I didn’t become king for nothing. I won it. Through blood and sacrifice.”

     “Release me.” Kira eyes glared orange.

“You come into my country, demanding a debt be paid. My people have paid that in full. They lie in chains, shackled like dogs. Being treated as property. So do not tell me of what I owe. Do so again, and you will see why they call me Demon King.”

     He was angry beyond reproach. His fingers still sang for him to cast. To burn and howl and rend. To make an example of the arrogance of the Great East. The thing that stopped him, the thing that cooled his temper, was his husband.

     Derek’s hand entwined in his own. The touch of it broke Stiles from his enragement. Allowing him to see clearly. Allowing him to see the mistake he was about to make. That what he’d hoped to avoid, would happen of his own design.

    “Thank you, husband. It appears, once again, my temper has gotten the better of me.”

“We all have our moments. I’m just happy this one is over.” Derek’s eyes quivered with fear.

     “Your banter serves only to add insult to injury.” Kira’s eyes still glowed orange.

“As opposed, to…what? You threatened war. I repaid that threat. You can stay sealed there if you like. If your handmaidens try and free you, they’ll be placed in cells.”

     This time, Kira actually lunged for the edges of the barrier. Desperately trying to free herself. Whatever she was, it felt rage as deeply as Stiles did. If not deeper. Her magic was fierce. But little magic was older than that of mountain ash. And little could penetrate it. But in her attempt, he’d found an opening.

“You’re not being escorted because of tradition, are you? You’re being escorted because you want to protect them.”

     Kira’s expression is all the answer Stiles needed. She looked at him as if he was the single most horrible thing that ever walked the earth. Which very well may have been the case. To her at least. She had showed her hand. He had a better one.

      “Tell me, Kira, what wish have you? The number of handmaidens in unnecessary. With you power, all that would’ve been needed was a small caravan. And perhaps a dozen soldiers. Or are you, perhaps, that pampered?”

   In light of the princess answering, one of the handmaidens rose from her kneeling. The woman’s eyes held a myriad of things. Rage. Despair. Sorrow. Hope. It was an odd thing to see. An odd thing to understand. Because Stiles had seen eyes like that. He saw them every time he looked in a mirror.

      “Our Lady is not…pampered. We, as her handmaidens are protected.”

“Protected from what, exactly?” Now they were getting somewhere.

      “Any woman, in service to a daughter of the emperor is forbidden from marriage. Forbidden from being touched by a man. That is our law. That is our protection. So long as we serve the princess, we cannot be handled by any man. Even the emperor himself.”

     Stiles felt his stomach twist. He understood, in a single instant, what the handmaiden had implicated. The horrid things that she knew and witnessed every day. In her princess’ home. In hers. In her country. The shield Kira provided repelled the advances of men.

     Those sworn to sacred service were off limits. Holding a hefty punishment should they be harmed or defiled. It was absolutely horrible. But it was also an opportunity. The princess had shown her hand, and it was a bust. Stiles knew his win.

 

“Princess Kira, how would you like to overthrow your father?” Stiles thought he heard one of the noble ladies faint.

***

Something was wrong. Something was very, very, very wrong. Derek, as a born werewolf, had seen plenty of the world. Had seen and heard and experienced. Even still, what had happened in the throne room…It frightened him. Stiles had frightened him.

     The meeting with the emperor’s child was wrought with tension from the beginning. She was graceful and bordering on majestic. As well as powerful. Even more powerful than Stiles. That’s why she’d been sent. Derek knew that tactic well enough.

      Things became heated when the discussion of debt had been brought up. Stiles, who’d been reserved and level headed, had lost it. He rose from the throne. The air buzzing about him and Kira. The young princess swam with electricity.

    Whatever she was….It was old. Old and powerful. Creatures that had power of primal elements always were. Whatever Stiles was, just the same. He, however, was quicker on the draw. And had the young woman trapped in a circle of mountain ash. That’s what really set her off.

     Stiles was no different. His scent went sour with rage. The color drained from his face. His fingers thrummed with power. And Derek swore, against all logic, that he saw his husband’s eyes go black. Like the deepest pits of night.

     He didn’t know what Stiles was. Not human, but certainly not a shifter. That much was clear. Whatever he was, what he truly was, remained a mystery. Derek had been too frightened to ask. Had been too stupefied to even think about it.

    So, he did what any good prince would do. He listened. The nobility were always the gossiping type. No matter the country. So, he engaged and gossiped in turn. Giving little hints of his home life. Speaking openly about his country. Providing the barest of details.

    It worked splendidly. Though not in the way he wanted. In a week of probing, he’d learned nothing about what Stiles was. Why he was as powerful as he was. Why he seemed to strike fear so easily in the hearts of others.

     In that week, Kira had made herself a place in the palace. Along with her many handmaidens. She and Stiles were planning treachery. He gleaned the details as best he could. A foreign prince had no place in planning such things. Even if he was married to the king.

    But, oddly enough, Stiles included him anyway. They had grown closer. Had become more like mates since they had talked. And even though Derek was still very much afraid…Even though he longed for answers about his husband, he put that to the side.

      There was a revolution afoot. Kira’s country had a rather large class divide between men and women. As the third daughter, she was exempt from such travesty. The amount of power she held as a royal alone was enough. It was also the matter of her birth that gave her standing.

     She was strong enough to lay waste to an army. Needless to say, any man that went against her wouldn’t last very long in the matter. Stiles, once things had calmed down, rather enjoyed the young princess. Derek, even amongst all the turmoil of their current situation, still found himself being jealous.

      Kira was everything a king’s spouse should be. Beautiful. Powerful. Regal. And there was the added bonus of her being able to bare his children. It was common in the Great East for men to have multiple wives. Especially amongst the royals.

      Even still, Kira never suggested an alliance through marriage. At the moment, their mutual cooperation was born of two things. Kira wanted her father dethroned so that the women of her country would no longer be under his thumb.

     Stiles wanted him dethroned because, with his absence, he would have the chance to get back his enslaved countrymen. The two royals were working entirely on trust and faith. On the idea that, working together against a common enemy, would bring them what they both wanted.

      Derek fought with them. His betas sent word back home, informing them of what was going on. Surprisingly, his mother supported the campaign. She knew full and well Stiles was strong enough to go against damn near anyone. With Kira on their side, a hurricane wouldn’t have been able to stop them.

     It was a tumultuous two weeks. They had been busy. Planning and organizing. Kira had numerous vassals that sent her information. Spies that slipped through shadows like particles of dust. What they learned was little, but vital all the same. In that time, Derek had been putting off the inevitable.

      The night of the full moon was two days away. The consequences of this particular full moon would be…intense. It was a common occurrence for every mated wolf. A yearly sort of event that became a part of their lives. Derek hadn’t had the courage to tell Stiles.

     It was an intimate thing. A time were wolves and their mates spent…laying. Frequently. His betas felt his distress. And urged him to talk to his husband. With all that was happening, and with war looming, Derek didn’t want to make matters even more stressful.

    So, he stayed silent. Until the day of the moon, when he woke, harder than he’d ever been in his life. He heard stories about it. The magnitude of what he would feel. The moon was many hours away, and yet it was already this bad. He relived himself several times to take the edge off. It was only mildly successful.

    His wolf demanded the touch of their mate. It wanted Stiles. His cock. His come. His sweat. Every piece of him. Every last inch that he was willing to give. And in his husband’s case, that was quite a few inches.

     He goes about the day. Trying his best to act like everything is normal. That he’s not on the edge of a nervous breakdown. For the most part, he is successful. Even Scott is untuned to his distress. Though, the alpha in question has other predicaments at hand.

     He had been exchanging extensive letters with Allison. Communicating back and forth. He did not know the details. But it was safe to say they were courting. Even separated by a borders, their interest in one another couldn’t be sated.

       The real issue is when his betas caught wind of him. The three of them were attuned with his feelings through the pack bond. And knew damn well that he was anything but alright. Isaac gave him a rather stern look of disapproval. Boyd said nothing. Erica smacked him upside the head.

     He ignored all of them. They knew that Derek had reservations about telling Stiles what tonight’s full moon meant. As well was what happened during Kira’s reception. There was too much going on. Too much happening for him to worry Stiles over something that would pass.

    His wolf, however, was determined to make things difficult. As much as he would try, Derek couldn’t avoid his husband all day. There were official meetings to attend. Projects to manage. He’d been assigned in assuring that the reconstruction efforts remained on schedule.

    That meant regular reports and communication. When he enters his husband’s private chambers, his wolf claws at the edges of his sanity. Snarling, howling, and whining. Derek embraces the man with as much as reservation as he can manage. Which, honestly, wasn’t all that much.

     When his mate’s scent fills his nostrils, Derek knows that his eyes are glaring an unyielding red. If the man notices, he does not pay it any mind. Instead, he indulges Derek’s affections. He, at one point, buries his nose into the man’s neck. Staying there, silently savoring the musk of his mate.

     Even though he was still afraid, even though he had a thousand and one questions, in this moment, he couldn’t find any restraint. Stiles, even surrounded by nobles and his advisors, does not chastise Derek for his behavior. He only strokes small circles into the wolf’s hair.

     By the time the sun starts to set, Derek knows his willpower is running short. Every little thing sets him off. People touching Stiles. Marking him with their scent. He can’t stand it. Another’s scent on his mate. His wolf demands that the situation be rectified. That they mark each other until no one could tell the difference.

     He decides, most wisely, to skip dinner. Heading straight for his chambers. Locking himself away. When night finally comes, he can no longer help himself. His wolf has been caged for the better part of the day, and he releases every pent up frustration.

     It does not help. The wolf doesn’t want their hand. It wants their mate. It wants them here. Nestled in soft sheets. Slack jawed and covered in a sheen of sweat. Muttering sweet nothings as they fucked under the light of a full moon.

     Derek almost gives in. almost. He wants to run from his chambers. Straight to Stiles. Bringing him back to his bed. Just to hold him. Something. Anything. Even his human side longs for it. Craves it more than he’s ever craved anything. But he doesn’t because he is afraid.

     Afraid that Stiles would reject him. That he would be disgusted. That he would find every aspect of tonight repulsive. That he would see Derek as a freak. As a monster. Even though the man had never given any indication of such feelings.

     He wonders what his mate was doing. If he was sleeping soundly in the night. If he was at rest. Despite all that was going on. Despite all that was to come. Despite all the secrets between them. He wondered. And he wondered still. Then, he got his answer.

    He had been so lost in the pull of the moon, so entrapped in his own self-torment, that he hadn’t noticed that his chamber doors had been opened. He knows because the scent hits him, and what little control he has disintegrates.

     It’s the musk of summer and the spice of autumn all rolled into one. Sweet fruit and warm light. Everything that Derek could have ever desired. It overwhelms and entrances him. Sending his head into a spin. Where everything logical disappears, and only the wolf remains. Only the wolf remains because their mate is here.

     Derek pins the man against the wall. Enclosing upon him with the veracity of molten iron. Pressing his nose to the man’s neck. Feeling his pulse beat under his tongue. It was heaven. Every possible bliss. A single moment where his wolf howled with joy.

     He snaked his hands under the man’s robes. Feeling warm skin beneath his fingers. His mate shuddered. Derek took it as a sign that he approved and moved lower. Down to where he really desired he was nearly there when his stupor was broken.

      “Derek.”

Hearing his name brought him back to reality. Snapping his attention away. Putting his wolf in its place. He leaned back to see Stiles. Standing, pink faced and eyes wide. He was not afraid. He was not afraid. But he did seem very confused. And Derek knew that he had to leave.

      “You shouldn’t be here. Why are you here?” The alpha hadn’t expected his mate to come. He had thought that he could survive the night on his own.

“You were acting…strange. A tad more affectionate than you usually are. Well, more than a tad.”

     Derek swallowed the lump in his throat. Trying desperately to think of some excuse. Something that he could tell Stiles that would dispel his suspicion. That he could use to justify his actions. And why he was so unhinged. Why he was damn near out of control.

      “It’s nothing. I just…My wolf was…Restless. With everything that’s been happening.”

“Pardon me for saying husband, but that, if not a lie, is not the entire truth. I understand that we are supposed to comfort one another. But your cock seems to want more than just comfort.”

     Dammit. Derek had hoped, that in the dark of the room, Stiles wouldn’t have noticed his arousal. That he could skirt the issue. Get his husband to leave and the man be none the wiser. But that wasn’t going to be the case. Even still, he couldn’t tell him what was going on. He couldn’t risk losing his mate.

      “I…It’s…complicated. I don’t know how to explain.”

  “I think, Derek, words are needed here. Actions don’t really cover this kind of thing. So try, as much as you can, to tell me. I’ll listen until your voice goes horse.”

      The alpha felt his wolf preen with pride. His mate was here. His mate was here, and was willing to listen. To listen and try to understand what was happening. Why it was so important that the two of them be together. That they be here, under the light of the stars.

      “It’s a special time for wolves. For me. The first full moon after a wolf bonds with their mate, it’s…Well, it has a name.” Derek didn’t want to say it. He was still afraid.

      Stiles took his chin in his hand. Making sure the alpha was eye to eye with him. He couldn’t have done this with anyone else. It was seen as a challenge. An act of defiance. Stiles was the only person in the world who could do this. And Derek wanted it no other way.

      “Tell me, husband. Tell me the name of what gives you so much distress.”

“The first full moon after we bond, after we consummated, is commonly referred to as the Mating Moon.” Stiles’ eyes grew even wider.

     “The Mating Moon. Forgive me, husband, but that sounds as if this from one of those novels I heard about at court.

 Derek understood that Stiles wasn’t trying to be hurtful, but his comment stung all the same. Humans didn’t have a word for this kind of thing. Didn’t have an understanding. If Derek was going to get anywhere, he’d have to try. Even if all his wolf wanted to do was tear his husband’s robes off.

     “The Mating Moon is meant…for children. For making them I mean. The females go into heat, and the males…The males…..”

“The males begin to rut.”

Stiles had taken the words out of his mouth. Had figured it out before Derek could finish. His mate was a clever man. Far more than most. It was a good thing. Now, the only issue was whether or not Stiles understood.

     “It’s…I didn’t want you to think that you were obligated. To lay with me, I mean. It’s not like you can carry a child anyway.” Derek felt his wolf whine. He was, in part, ashamed.

      But much to his surprise, he felt soft lips on his own. Stiles had kissed him. It was gentle, compared to the heat that raged through Derek’s body. He ignored his wolf’s howling, kissing his husband back with human sensibility. He would not appreciate savagery and brute force.

“I will never shame you for having lust for you husband, as you would never shame me. But is that what you wish? For us to lay with one another.”

    Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. But at the same time, no. Derek didn’t know how well he could control himself. How much he could restrain himself. Stiles was not a wolf. And would not respond to the needs and actions of a wolf. Nor could he heal from them. But he did have any idea. One that even his wolf wouldn’t take issue with.

      “I want you to fuck me, husband.”

Stiles eyes nearly popped out of his head. Derek assumed that it was the right thing to say. Because this time, when Stiles kissed him, their teeth clacked together. It was a perfect match for the heat that had already pooled in Derek’s stomach. That had coiled into his groin.

       “On the bed, on your stomach.” Derek had never moved so quickly in all his life.

The wolf whined its discontent when the separated. Derek ignored it as he spread himself across the sheets. His cock trapped between his stomach and the bed. He longed to touch it. For his mate, for Stiles to wrap in it his slender fingers.

      He quite literally had to resist the urge to rut into the bed. To find some manner of relief from the pressure building in his balls. Derek could not keep still, but he would not pleasure himself. He would let Stiles take care of that. And indeed he did.

      The man had disrobed in record time. Draping himself along Derek’s back. Warm skin pressed against his. Teeth nipping at the nape of his neck. The alpha felt his wolf growl. It wasn’t upset. Just the opposite in fact. Their mate was claiming them. Marking them. Nothing could’ve been better.

      Stiles kiss his way down Derek’s spine. Hands firmly on the other man’s hips. Doing his best to keep him still. But an alpha werewolf in rut was a powerful and dangerous thing. Derek did his best to try and curb himself. He was only mildly successful.

     When his mate reaches the cleft of his ass, Derek shudders. When he parts his cheeks, he whines. Wordlessly begging to be touched. Touched anywhere and everywhere. His fingers began to sting, and Derek knew that his claws had shredded the sheets. Stiles responded to his distress by running his tongue over the alpha’s hole.

     It took everything Derek had not to howl. To not give voice to the immeasurable pleasure that he felt. Derek, in all his life, had never been touched there. Even by himself. He’d heard stories of course. In the most shameless, wanton smut that perpetrated court gossip.

     But he never imagined it like this. Stiles worked his tongue over Derek’s hole. Again and again and again. Hard broad strokes. And little kitten licks. Everything and anything to make his mate shudder. He felt his arms go numb.

   His cock was harder than steel. Leaking steadily onto the bed. Still, he did not touch it. His wolf demanded otherwise. Derek ignored it. When Stiles pressed a finger to his entrance, it made things that much more difficult.

     “Have you oil, husband? Otherwise, like before, this won’t be pleasant.”

“In the top drawer…Little vial…FUCK”

     Stiles kissed his hole before moving to grab the vial. Derek nearly gave in. Nearly touching his cock. Only for a moment. Then, his mate’s fingers were back to his hole. Massaging with gentle pressure. Derek tried to breathe through his mouth. Tried to calm himself down.

      When the first of his mate’s fingers slips inside him, Derek feels his fangs sting through his gums. He was half shifted now. Stiles couldn’t see. Couldn’t know how little control his husband had. At this point, Derek was ready to throw his mate onto his back.

    Throw his mate onto his back and ride his cock until he saw stars. His wolf wanted to. Wanted to make their mate come. To have him empty his cock inside Derek. And making it where he never desired another person ever again.

    But he couldn’t. He had resisted the urge to call upon his husband. To have Stiles help him through his rut. Too much of his wolf was in control now. The alpha couldn’t risk hurting his husband. Couldn’t risk hurting his mate. So, he endured.

     When the man’s fingers slip from his hole, Derek releases a breath he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding. His entire body vibrates with tension. Unable to keep still. Unable to do anything but beg and whine. Beg and whine for his mate’s cock.

     Stiles indulges him. Kissing the back of his neck, gently slipping inside the alpha. The first few seconds hurt. Then, with all the tension he’d built, is seemed like nothing. Still, his husband doesn’t move. Does not do anything other than grip Derek’s hips. He goes back to begging.

     His husband listens, thrusting forward sharply. Derek exhales a deep breath. Feeling Stiles’ cock movie inside him. It’s not enough. He needs more. Needs like he needs air. His husbands thrusts again. And again. And again. And again. Gradually increasing his pace.

      It’s torture. Derek’s cock is all but flowing with precum. Desperate for relief. He moves to grab it, to indulge in sweet, sweet friction. Stiles does not give him the chance. The man grabs the front of the alpha’s throat. Pulling him upwards. Biting down on the back of his neck.

     Derek feels his wolf howl with mad joy. His mate was claiming him. Claiming him as his own. Even if he didn’t realize it. He was claiming him. It solidified their bond. Marking them as one. The ultimate connection. The ultimate experience.

     The angle of Stiles’ cock changed. Pressing over that treasured sweet spot inside the alpha. He had to bite his lip to keep from howling. Whatever control or restraint Stiles had, was now gone. He fucked into Derek with wild abandon. Slamming into his hips.

      Derek didn’t even bother trying to touch himself anymore. He came harder than he ever had in his life. white ate at the edges of his vision as he spilled onto the sheets. Forever ruining them. he couldn’t find it in himself to care all that much.

      Stiles thrusts forwards sharply, pausing and sucking in a breath. Derek can feel his mate empty his balls. Hot pulses of come spurting inside him. Marking him with his mate’s scent. The whole world, every shifter would know who he belonged to. He felt his wolf howl even more.

      Their bodies spent, their climax finished, the both of them collapse onto the bed. Unable to stay upright any longer. Derek can feel the heat between them. He can smell their sweat and come. The proof of their claiming. But his wolf would not settle.

     Stiles had claimed him. Fucked him, and accepted Derek’s submission. Now, it was the wolf’s hour. He did not stay still long enough for his mate to rest. He kissed him with fever, tasting the salt on the man’s lips. Stiles gave no objections.

     It was a quick embrace. One that meant to convey Derek’s gratitude and his lust. Then, he had his mate’s legs up to his ears. Eagerly lapping at the man’s hole. He was, after all, obligated to return the favor. His husband, once again, gave no objections.

      It was an intense experience. Derek had never done this with any of his lovers. He’d never thought to ask. It seemed….prudish now that he thought about it. Stiles’ scent was concentrated here. Musk, with sharp notes of spice.

     His wolf was calmer now. But his fangs were still out, and he had to be careful not to nip his husband. Stiles, not caring, grabbed Derek’s hair. Pushing his head down further. Burring him in the sweet swell of his mate’s ass. The alpha felt his wolf grumble in absolute approval.

     Keeping his tongue on Stiles’ hole, Derek desperately fumbled around the bed. Looking for the vial of oil. As his husband said, without it, this wouldn’t be enjoyable for either of them. He felt the clink of glass between his fingers, and he quickly snatched it.

     Thankfully, he’d regained enough to control to sheath his claws. Otherwise, this wouldn’t have been possible. Or, rather, Stiles wouldn’t had to open himself. Which put another dent in Derek’s control. The idea, the more he thought about it, enticed both him and his wolf.

     He’d never done this before. So, he worked slowly. Even as impatient as his wolf howled, as it growled in frustration. The first finger makes Stiles hiss. Not in pain, but in ecstasy. He was still riding the high of fucking Derek. And was so sensitive, a lone finger made him squirm. Derek counted it as a good thing.

     Little by little, piece by piece, he opened his mate. Trying his best to reign in his wolf. Stiles was human. Or something close to it. He did not heal like a wolf. And would no appreciate scratch marks from an alpha’s claws.

      By the time Derek is three fingers deep, he feels no more resistance from his mate’s hole. He is ready. So, he empties the remainder of the vial on his cock. Stiles’ hole is puffy and warm as he presses inside. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to just thrust full to the hilt. Driving his cock home.

     Stiles, for all he was worth, seemed utterly impatient. As he dug his heels into the back of the alpha’s ass. Forcing him forward in a grand push. And Derek, never one to quit, took the hint. Still not wanting to hurt his mate, he thrust slowly. The moan he got from his mate made his blood sing.

      Still buried in Stiles, Derek laid his body across the man. Aligning their stomachs together. He felt the press of his mate’s cock against his navel. He wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders. Burying his nose into his mate’s neck. Running the length of his tongue over the man’s pulse point.

     Each thrust made Stiles’ heart beat just a little faster. Derek could feel the precum from his mate’s cock smear across his stomach. They were both close. They were both on the verge of climax, even though they had just come minutes earlier.

     That was the power of the Mating Moon. Derek’s wolf howled louder and louder and louder still. He couldn’t control it anymore. He fucked into his mate with no restraint. Balls slapping against Stiles’ ass. The man unable to even speak. Only breathe and moan and hiss. It was beautiful.

     Derek’s comes with a grunt, shuddering as he empties himself inside of Stiles. His mate comes between their stomachs. Smearing his seed across them. The spicy vitality of his filling Derek’s nostrils. He claimed his mate. He’d claimed his mate and his mate had claimed him. Except, something wasn’t right.

      He collapsed down next to Stiles. Body spent, his wolf sated. Then, it wasn’t. His mate’s scent changed. From rich spice and woodsy musk, to something…dark. Old and dangerous. Like blood soaked fire over an ancient battlefield.

      Derek saw the color fade from Stiles. Not just his face, but his whole body. He was so pale that he seemed to glow in the moonlight. The rich honey-amber of his eyes faded. Pooled like tar into blackness. An unyielding, unending blackness. As if all light had faded.

     But most terrifying, the most surreal, were the fangs. Not like that of a werewolf. Meant to rip flesh from bone. To rend organs from the body. No, these fangs were something else. Sharp, almost needles like. Meant from gripping prey, and keeping it from movie.

     Meant for ripping into vital blood vessels and draining them of life. Even still, that had nothing on the horn. Jutting upwards from his mate’s forehead. They looked like something out of a nightmare. Stiles looked like something out of nightmare.

     Derek could do nothing. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. His wolf was paralyzed. Torn between running in abject fear. And attacking out of it. The wolf could do nothing. Stiles, it seemed, was still able to speak.

“Derek…..” his mate said his name with the sound of heartbreak in his voice. The wolf ran a finger over Stiles’ top lip just as he started to cry. It was the most terrible thing. Among all the most terrible of terrible things. Stiles was crying.

***

Stiles had wondered how it would happen. How his secret would be found out. How the greatest power, how the greatest shame, and the greatest rage of his life would be discovered. In the few short years after the war, he never expected it to be from marriage.

      His father, Scott, Lydia, and Melissa were the only four people on existence that knew. Knew the depth of that what he’d sacrificed, what he’d lost. The deal that he’d struck in exchange for power. In exchange for an assured victory.

     The stories of demons spread back further than human memory. Further than their stories. The only thing older was their fear. Perhaps, in the end, that’s where they came from. Perhaps it wasn’t some primordial darkness. Or unceasing shadow. Perhaps, in the end, it was just human fear.

      Stiles was that strange thing. Not shifter or beast, but not entirely human either. He had magic. And with magic, came power. With power came knowledge. With knowledge, came more power. He was by no means akin to the ancient mages of old. His magic was more like parlor tricks.

      But war was a terrible thing. It was a steel edged sky raining down on the corpses of fallen men. Of widows driven to a hellish madness. Children, dead eyed. Staring into a sun that scorches their souls. Indeed, war was a terrible thing. A lesson that Stiles had learned.

     His village was destroyed. The love of his life, kidnapped and placed in chains. His best friend, forcibly turned. And on the track to meeting the same fate. He stood to lose everything. Everything that he’d ever known. That he ever would know. That he’d never get back.

     He’d heard, as all those who had magic, the many legends. Of terrible, awful creatures. Ones who slithered in between nightmares. And sang in a language that made the gods themselves tremble. They offered one thing and one thing only to mortals. Power.

      There was, of course, with all things, a price. The most common being ones soul. Stiles didn’t know if he believed in a world after this one. He knew there was power in a life. That there was strength. But a soul? He had his doubts.

    Still, he trudged the deepest, oldest parts of the forest. Where light could not reach. Where birds did not sing. Where all the leaves on the trees sat in a stony silence. The quiet of it was disturbing. Things grew here. And things died here. But nothing was alive.

      The ritual itself was common and rather straightforward. Three drops of blood, and a simple incantation. His voice feel flat in the quiet of the trees. Nothing could hear him. Nothing would come. Then, something did. He nearly pissed himself when the demon manifested itself. That was the terror that he felt.

     It was a shapeless thing. And in the same moment, it had form. It was a shifting mass of shadow. A lion. A boar. A snake. A hound. It took anything and everything that it could conjure. A crippled man leaning on his bad leg. A child weeping for their mother.

      The only thing that stayed consistent was those ungodly red eyes. Like fire from the deepest pits of hell. But somehow worse. Stiles could not move. When the creature spoke, its voice did not belong to the notion of a human. In fact, it did not belong to this world. Still, Stiles could not move.

    It spoke in a way that mimicked the way a human would sound. But Stiles had magic in his blood. He knew that, even if this thing appeared to be of this world, the way it sounded was not. It demanded to know why it was summoned. It demanded to know what Stiles’ greatest desire was.

      It was simple, really. He wanted power. The power to defeat the soldiers burning their villages. He wanted the power to end the hunts. He wanted the power to save his family. Somehow, the demon sneered without a mouth. It laughed a laugh sounded like the worst thing that ever made a sound.

      The creature named its price. What Stiles would have to pay for the power he so desired. It was a direct reflection of how much he would gain. How much he would achieve. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, too good to be true. As such deals often were.

    He didn’t care. He agreed. He made the deal, and watched as the demon slithered into the cracks of the earth. Perhaps back to hell. Perhaps somewhere else. But it was gone all the same. And Stiles felt his magic explode inside of him.

      Every vein. Every muscle. Every bone. Broke. Torn. Burst. Bent. Reshaped. Reformed. He was stronger than anyone in his country. Other magic users looked like fools compared to him. The soldiers feel. The palace fell. The king fell. The nobles fell. The slavers fell.

     Everything that had stood in his way, that had threatened his family, that had threatened his people, was gone. And he, against every logical sense that existed in this, or any universe, was king. The Demon King. The peasant made horrid hero.

      It was nothing that he had expected. The freshly buried nobility knew next to nothing of ruling. They just demanded their taxes. Feasted and drank. And sold and bought slaves. Their country had fallen into near ruin. Stiles was now the one to fix it.

     All the while, no one knew. The surviving nobility hated him with a glorious passion. But they also feared him in turn. Enough that any thought of rebellion was quashed before it could be formed. In the stead of that, he made them see what needed to happen.

     Their country was broken. People were lost, starving, and filled with hopelessness. Their previous king had made slaves of his non-human subjects. Ripped families apart. Burnt entire villages off the map. Erasing them from existence. All for the sake of his own greed. Stiles worked his hardest to repair that. Still, no one knew.

      The first big win was the trading treaty with the Golden Isles. It proved lucrative beyond measure. The island kings were generous. And so was Stiles. He built the funds for their reconstruction. Discarding outdated systems of employment and making sure that everyone, down to the last child, was fed. Still, no one knew.

      He kept the secret. He kept it and he kept it. Beyond the reaches of his sanity, and then some. It all came to destruction on the night of the new moon. That’s when his magic was weakest. When the sky held no stars. No moon. No light. It’s when his sin would come home, and roost in the reaches of his soul.

     His father was the first to see him. The man drew his sword without thinking. Nearly killing Stiles in the process. The man nearly let him. There was the smallest of seconds were he considered it. Where he considered dying at the hands of his father. The only thing was stopped him, was the grief.

     They had lost everything. He may have been king, but there were things that he could never get back. No matter how many deals he made, nor with whom he made them. His father losing his only child, his only family…Stiles would not have it.

      The sound of his voice breaks his father from his fear. The sound of his voice saved his life. The demon, it seemed, hadn’t thought to take that from him. It took everything else, but in even with all its cruelty, it didn’t think to take that.

     His father’s sword clattered to the floor. Tears welling in his crinkled eyes. The sacrifice that he’d made now was known to the one person he wanted to keep it from the most. Scott and Melissa learned soon after that. Lydia was the last.

     Much to his surprise, she wasn’t aggrieved. Or despondent. Or even remotely sad. She was furious. She was furious beyond measure. The young banshee screamed louder than Stiles thought possible. The halls of the palace quaked. Men pissed themselves.

       The demon that Stiles contracted with had taken everything from him. But he was king. And a king protected his people. Even if his people would’ve had him slaughtered in his bed if they knew the truth. He persevered. Made sure that his people wanted for nothing.

     Peter Hale was the reason that all came crashing down. He had a temper to begin with. After the demon, that only got worse. He narrowly avoided executing the man in a blind rage. Then of course, came Derek. And his sisters. With the suggestion of an alliance.

     A peace between their two countries. A marriage to seal it. He paled at the idea. It terrified him. He’d kept the secret for several years now. He certainly didn’t want the ruling family of a foreign country finding out. But there weren’t many good options. The Hales were wealthy, and abundant in resources.

     His family was less than enthused at the idea. Scott most of all. He knew the risks. He knew what could happen. He didn’t care. He wanted to help his people. And he was done sacrificing. Done surrendering everything that he was.

     So, he married Derek. In the most upsetting, wonderful wedding in living memory. The nobles of both their countries were enraged to the core. Stiles thrived off of it. He was practically giddy. Derek seemed to find some manner of amusement as well.

      He vowed never to be cruel or unkind to his husband. Even though they were the furthest thing from friends. They were allies. And he was a good man. Stiles liked to think of himself as one as well. Even though he was no longer a man. But life rarely worked out the way one desired.

     Stiles had spent so much time being king, that there was never room for anything else. Despite the fact that every noble family in the country was out for his blood. Be it in revenge for dismantling their families. Or because they wanted a seat of power. Stiles never had a private moment.

     Back in the village, life was far simpler. He had lovers and interests and friends. They were not wealthy, but they wanted for nothing. A good, easy life. Being king meant that he had everything that a lesser man could dream of.

      But he had no life of his own. Their previous king had indulged in his greed and his lust. And it had nearly driven them all to ruin. Stiles knew that if he wasn’t careful, he would follow the same path. Would make the same mistakes. So, he was king, and nothing else.

     Derek changed that. He saw the alpha with his pack. With his family. He saw everything that he wanted, and he wanted more. It was…difficult. They had consummated their marriage on legal basis only. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything beyond that.

     But it did. They’d connected in a way that Stiles didn’t fully understand. He didn’t think he wanted to. Because if he did, he might just ruin everything. He might just bring not one, but two countries to ruin. Start another war. And more innocents would die.

      Try as he might, he couldn’t help it. He had his family, yes. But Derek’s touch. His kiss. His scent. His alpha. Everything that Stiles had secretly dreamed of was within reach. Within his grasp. So, he took it. He took it, and held to it as tightly as he possibly could. All it cost him was everything.

      He’d shared the full moon, the Mating Moon, with Derek. His husband had explained it to him. Told of the significance of it. What it would mean if the two were to lay together. He didn’t care. And it was the most glorious thing he’d ever experienced.

    Like any healthy young man, he had previous lovers. The village was small, and people knew who they were going to marry from a young age. That didn’t mean carnal activities were strictly nonexistent. But Stiles had never experienced anything like this. And he never would again. Because his secret was broken. Derek knew.

     He said his husband’s name. Hoping against anything and everything, that he would say something back. He didn’t. The man just laid next to him. Wide eyed and stone faced. So, he cried. That’s all he could do, cry. It had been some time since he last shed any tears.

“You’re…..You’re….”

     “Yes.” Derek couldn’t even ask the question.

“That’s why….The names…”

      “Unfortunate coincidence. Or possibly, tragically hilarious. Either way, it fits.”

Derek still hadn’t moved. His eyes were still quivering. But he was not shifted. Was not making a move to try and run. Or even hurt Stiles. It was the oddest, most mundane reaction possible. He wondered if this was a nightmare.

      “You haven’t run screaming. Are you truly that terrified?”

“To be truthful, husband, I don’t know what to feel. I don’t….”

     Derek still called him husband. Maybe he was in shock. Maybe he just couldn’t form the right words. Stiles wondered. He wondered as he ran a clawed finger across the alpha’s cheek. He hated them the most of all his new appearances.

     They were not like a wolf’s claws. They were not curved. They were pointed and sharp. Like the edge of a sword. Meant to slice through flesh and bone straight down to the soul. The claws of a creature that had no use to hunt. Only to torment. Even still, Derek did not flinch at his touch.

       “Were….Were you ever going to tell me? About any of this?” His husband’s voice trembled.

“No.” There was no point in lying. There was nothing else for it. Stiles had no other options.

      “I think…I think I’d like to know why…Or rather what….I don’t even….”

“To save those who I loved, I was made to become something incapable of being loved. That’s what the demon laid its price as. Which, I suppose, in the long run, was open to interpretation.”

    In all the stories, in all the oldest of nightmarish tales, demons crave one thing and one thing only. Souls. They were the currency of power in hell. And a demon with more souls could rule over other demons. In Stiles’ case, the demon did not desire something so trivial.

      Whatever he’d managed to summon was stronger than petty desire. It wanted misery. It wanted suffering. It wanted chaos. It wanted madness and deception. Which was what it got. It got every bit of it. Because the longer he kept the secret, the more Stiles descended into the depths of insanity.

     His family suffered. He suffered. Now, his husband was suffering as well. The demon fed off. Writhed in it. Relished it. Every bit of the price he’d paid had been paid in full. And then some. There was no going back from here. He’d truly lost everything.

      “Does anyone…I mean, is this truly why they call you Demon King?”

“Only my family knows. Like the demons said, something incapable of being loved. Which means, no matter how much magic I use to glamour myself, the demon’s magic will always circumvent my own.”

     His words nearly choked him. Made his heart shudder in his chest. Because he had realized the gravity of what he had said. Derek loved him. Truly, he loved him. Even if he hadn’t realized, or acknowledged it.

    That was the price of his deal. Stiles could hide his form with magic all he wanted. He was certainly powerful enough to do so. But the demon would make sure that those who loved him would always see what he truly was. Which was, as he’d come to accept, a demon.

      His appearance aside, he didn’t feel particular evil. For all intents and purposes, he had the body of a demon, but the soul of a human. Which was a good thing. He sometimes laid awake at night and wondered how much worse things could’ve been. If the demon had taken his soul as well.

“I don’t know….I can’t even imagine…”

     “You sacrificed your power to prevent a war. I sacrificed my humanity to end one. The demon made sure that I suffered. That my family suffered. And now, you are being made to share in that.”

      For the first time since Derek had seen his face, his true face, the man moved. It was the simplest of things. He placed his hand on Stiles’ chest. feeling the beating his heart. Which was, at this point, about to leap out of his chest.

      He could feel tears well in his eyes again. There was a part of Stiles that hoped. Hoped that this was genuine. That this wasn’t Derek trying to placate him. that his husband, the man that he loved, was truly, meaningfully, embracing him.

“I have suffered. But not for this. Was I afraid of you when we met, yes. Am I afraid of you now, yes. But I have not suffered. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness. Nothing but hospitality. Even when you had every reason to place me aside. And leave me to my own.”

      “I have done terrible things for the sake of my country. For the sake of my people. For the sake of my family. But I could never do such a thing to you, or our pack. It is still our pack, isn’t it?”

     Stiles felt his voice break into a thousand and one pieces. This was where he would learn what his future held. What he and Derek could, and would truly be. And his husband did not disappoint. He kissed Stiles will all the gentleness of a summer wind.

     In it, ten thousand unspoken things. Where Stiles was meant to understand everything. He and Derek loved each other. Against every odd, every obstacle. Against every single way they could’ve burned. Stiles kissed him back, and as he did, he felt his body burn.

     It was the same sensation he felt when the demon struck the deal. Only increased tenfold. Power surged through him like a storm. Derek panicked, holding him. Wondering what was happening. The world spun and spun and spun. Then, it was over.

      At first, he feared the worst. That, now that Derek loved him, and had accepted this form, that he’d become even more of a monster. The truth, in fact, was the opposite. He no longer felt the pull of horns on his head. He no longer felt fangs stinging in his gums.

     He felt his own face with human hands. For the first time in three years, Stiles was human. Or at least, he looked human. The power that now ran through him didn’t feel as such. And he wondered, just what had happened. That, since he’d bested the demon, if he’d gained something in return.

      “Please tell me that I’m not dreaming. Please….” He was starting to cry again.

“No husband, you are in no dream. Nor a nightmare. You’re here, with me.”

     Derek kissed him again. It was just as soft. Stiles felt his heart dance. This time, with joy. He’d bested a demon that had taken everything from him. Now, after it seemed that there was nothing else he could lose, he was going to get it all back. So, he kissed his husband. He kissed him, and held him closer than he ever held anything in his life.

      “I think we have a lot to talk about, little wolf.”

“I told you not to call me that.” Derek frowned.

     “You’ve told me lots of things, but I’ve yet to listen. Perhaps now would be a good time to start.”

His wolf smiled wonderfully. It was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Stiles would never give it up. He would never have to give up anything ever again. Against every circumstance, he’d found love. Derek had found love. And, together,  they had escaped the fangs of war.

    

      

     

    

     

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a goddamn doozy, if I've ever written it. I tend to write longer fics as opposed to shorter ones. On that note, I have seven other Sterek fics if you guys are still hungry for more. Thanks for sticking around for the wild ass ride of a story. And as always, much love.

**Author's Note:**

> So, first chapter, 20,000 words. Next chapter, 20,000 words. Please don't be hitting the refresh button constantly, because, in all honesty, it'll be a while before the next chapter gets posted. Like, full on, several months. It takes time to write that much. Thanks for checking out my fic. If you liked it, I just finished a 90,000 word beast. And there are several others. All Sterek.


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